


The Bite of A Knife

by Cazio



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Cazio, Dark, Illness, M/M, Mental Illness, PTSD, Starbuck - Freeform, Stucky - Freeform, The Bite of A Knife, barnes and noble, steve/bucky - Freeform, winter soldier - Freeform, wintershield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:31:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 136,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to safely retrieve Bucky's memories, Steve returns to SHIELD operations to go on missions with his old best friend. It is a painful journey for them both, but the more Bucky returns, the more they both realize that their relationship has evolved in their time apart. </p><p>Even as they discover what this means for the future, the barbs of their old lives threaten to ruin it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As usual with my fics, **don't expect a happy ending**.
> 
> Also, this fic will is not your typical stucky fic--their relationship is complicated (aka internalized homophobia from being raised in a time where homosexuality was something that was likely to get you killed), so I'm just warning you that if you're looking for smut/PWP-heavy content you'll want to look elsewhere.
> 
> Fic warnings include: blood, violence, illness, mental illness, and homophobic slurs.

A wash of bright colors bled in every corner of Steve’s vision, the shine of his eyes decorated with an array of pink, gold, and ivory. Blues and reds reflected on the low luster of his skin, turning his body into a collection of lights and colors that made him into a walking installation as he wandered beneath arched ceilings. Seventy years ago, his blonde hair would have caused him to stick out against the dark black of the natives here, his pale skin in contrast to the colors that ranged from a warm tan to a dark chocolate. He couldn’t get tan, so his skin was always frighteningly pale, making him noticeable even among the sunburned tourists.

Now, though, he was ignored by all but the shopkeepers, and even they had little interest in selling their wares to a tourist walking with a purposeful step. That, and his eyes were up, scanning the seemingly endless line of windows above the walls of glowing lanterns, trinkets, and bolts of bright cloth.

The air smelled different here, ticked with the pungent aroma of dried tealeaves and rich spices. It made his mouth water for some reason, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. This place had withstood time much longer (and better) than he had and that was comforting to him more than any place in New York that had managed to stick around since the thirties. The noisy chatter and call of shopkeepers reminded him of the way New York City used to be, before cell phones and touchable screens. Back when the stock exchange was ruined by voices and people, not faceless computers.

Istanbul was wary of him, Steve knew. They recognized him—a few of the kids anyway. Mothers spoke in hushed Turkish as they herded children away from the strange man with golden hair and blue eyes that matched the elaborate ceilings of the Grand Bazaar that he was currently traveling through.

But this was not a sightseeing expedition. He’d done enough of that in the war. He was looking for an inconsistency in the giant beams of light that streamed through the windows, clearly designed to light the Bazaar long before electricity came along to do it instead. The sky outside was blood red, but the light that came through was still brighter than any of the lanterns illuminating the cracking walls.

All of this had started with a simple protection mission of a Turkish diplomat by the name of Hüseyin Diriös, who claimed he had been targeted by a terrorist organization. Various emails, letters, and even a voicemail had been produced, all of an organization vowing to destroy Diriös’ home and murdering his family. Such threats were usually ignored, except this organization had intel on an upcoming NATO agreement to be brought forth by Diniös that no one was supposed to know about.

Then the bodies started showing up. Every contact who knew about the intel had been visited by an assassin. And after a few SHIELD interrogations, a few fessed that they had told others of the NATO agreement. When SHIELD went to investigate the new leads, they found that all of them had died. Different ways—most were recorded as accidents—but someone had clearly taken them out. All of them. So skillfully that there was no trace.

Only one person had ever duped them like that.

Thus, here Steve was, striding through the Grand Bazaar in search of Bucky Barnes. Fury had advised against it, stating that Steve would not be able to complete the mission if it came down to eliminating Bucky, which could very likely be the case. But Steve as pretty sure he would be able to—

There was a man hunched in one of the windows. Steve had only caught a tiny shift of movement, but there was definitely a person up there, hiding in the evening shadow on one side of the window. Steve tried to keep moving, but it was hard with Bucky just sitting there. The only way he could think to describe it was like the feeling he’d gotten as a teenager when he and Bucky had gone upstate to practice shooting with one of Bucky’s friends that he’d met in a bar fight (which wasn’t uncommon).

The first time Steve had seen a stag in the flesh he had been mesmerized. Such a powerful, regal creature, but all it was doing was ripping up grass and flicking its fluffy white tail back and forth. It was terrifying an exhilarating all at once.

Bucky was just sitting, one leg straight out, the other folded, his elbow resting on a knee. He was watching the crowd, no doubt. As he had been doing for weeks, according to Natasha. She’d been tracking him, just to see if he was on a mission or not. She had come back saying that he was in the process of immersion.

“Probably learning Turkish,” she had said. “And any other Arabic dialects he can pick up. He learns fast.”

That had made Steve smile, because Bucky had learned enough German, French, and Italian to charm women within the first four weeks overseas, or so he’d heard. Languages had always come easily to him. Steve too, just not as quickly. And definitely not Turkish.

He slipped through the crowd and passed Bucky, sticking close to the tourist group he had been tailing to better fit in. Once he rounded a corner, he quickly located a few crates of goods that looked high enough for him to use to get up. With a bit of a run up, he managed it, though he winced when bystanders gasped and murmured amongst themselves.

The outside wall was easy to traverse, but Steve realized as he approached Bucky’s window that he hadn’t thought this through very well. There was no way to get up to the window without climbing, and that would leave him unarmed. All he had was a pistol and a dart gun—he had left his shield to keep from being noticed.

But the chance of Bucky escaping made him too anxious, so he hopped up the wall and into the window—and right into Bucky’s face.

They knocked heads, which threw him off, and then there was a glint of metal that Steve noticed just in time to stop Bucky from stabbing him in the gut.

“Bucky—“ He barely got out the name before a fist connected with his stomach.  It hurt, but Steve was used to getting beaten on, so he barely flinched and instead caught Bucky’s metal wrist, trying to wrench it away.

“Seni öldürürüm,” Bucky spat, in what Steve guessed was Turkish. He swore he could catch a Brooklyn accent in there somewhere. “Ben seni öldürürüm!”

It wasn’t safe to brawl up here. On one side was a fall out into a courtyard, the other into a crowd of people. They had maybe four feet of space and that was it.

Steve managed to get Bucky pinned after a few moments, enough to look into his eyes.

They were greyer than he remembered. He wondered if Natasha was right about how many times they may have wiped him.  Tony had described it like Bucky was a faulty memory card. They could put information inside of him and rip it out again, but there was no guarantee that the information was really gone. Obviously, Bucky had remembered him before in the helicarrier, but Tony and Natasha had warned that he had probably either been wiped again or just lost the memories on his own. Bucky’s eyes showed how many times he had been bleached clean, how many times everything had been stripped away.

“Bucky,” Steve said, more firmly this time. Neither of them had moved, so he felt pretty sure about Bucky at least finding him familiar.

“Seni tanimiyorum, ama ben seni tanuyorum,” Bucky said. Natasha would probably be impressed with his Turkish, but Steve had no idea what he was saying or if he was speaking Turkish at all.

“It’s me, Buck. Steve.”

He expected a sudden realization, or a spark of recognition, but Bucky’s eyes were steel. Steve gave a pained little smile, disappointed in himself for thinking that he would trigger something in his old friend. Instead, they were holding each other in place, struggling but not enough for it to be called a struggle. It wasn’t a play for power, they were just reminding each other that, yes, the other person was alive.

“Who are you?” Bucky demanded in choppy English.

Well, it was a start. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers. Remember me?”

“No,” Bucky snapped, then tried lunging again. Steve held him back, hyper-aware of the edge they were nearing. “You are here to kill me, yes?”

God, it was so strange to hear Bucky speak English without his slang or his Brooklyn…It wasn’t an accent, it was just his _voice_. “No,” Steve said, shaking his head for emphasis. “I’m your friend.”

That earned him another small struggle and a few bitten out swear words, or so Steve guessed by the ferocity in which Bucky said them.

“I’m not here to hurt you, okay?” Steve said once things had stilled again.  “I’m here to take you back to New York. You’ve been on the run a long time, Buck.”

“Stop calling me that,” the other man snarled.

“What? Oh. Sorry. You’ve been on the run and I’m here to take you back.”

“Back? You are here to take me as prisoner.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not. Okay, maybe kind of. We’re going to try and see if we can return your memories.”

Bucky just glared at him. Steve was instinctively uncomfortable because the only times his friend ever looked at him like that was when things went really sour on a date and it was his fault.

“So you can either come with me willingly, or I’ll have to sedate you and bring you in drugged. Your pick.”

Bucky stared up at him, his long hair wild around his face from their little scuffle. Despite his eyes not being like Steve remembered them, they were still incredibly piercing. It was made even more noticeable by the dark circles around his them, probably from not sleeping for days at a time on countless missions. His hair looked darker too—everything about him just seemed darker. Bucky may not have aged in the sense that most people did, but he was definitely weathered and worn. Hardened like most of the veterans Steve had met from various wars, but with the steeliness that came from active duty.

He was dangerous—that was the warning echoing through Steve’s mind.

“So,” he said carefully. “Sedation or no?”

 

 

It was nerve-wracking to get the cuffs on Bucky’s wrists, but the Winter Soldier didn’t show any signs of hostility except for the ever-present scowl on his face and the narrowed eyes that came along with it. Steve was wary—this was too easy—but he tried to trust that Bucky remembered him enough to know that no harm was coming. That was what he hoped anyway.

Once they got back to solid ground (after a lot of Russian swear words and Steve getting his face stepped on) he could relax somewhat. Bucky walked in front of him without needing to be manhandled and Steve couldn’t help but grin when he saw the other man idly flicking his fingers the way Bucky had that one time they’d been almost arrested for (allegedly) stealing soft wintergreen mints. Bucky had been stealing them for Steve’s strep throat.

Thankfully, they weren’t caught that day and Steve only had to bear the guilt of eating stolen mints while Bucky ruffled his hair and tried to hide that he was getting sick too.

“What are you looking at?” Bucky snapped, throwing a glare over his shoulder. Steve flinched, still unused to that angry gaze being directed at him.

“You saved me from the water,” Steve said as they entered the crowds of the bazaar once more. They needed to get to Natasha so they could get home before the Winter Soldier’s good mood went south. Well, he assumed this was his good mood.

“What water?” Bucky’s mouth had relaxed a bit though. He was remembering.

“I know it was you,” said Steve, gently grabbing Bucky’s arm to direct him down a different hallway. “You pulled me out of the water and left me on the beach. You didn’t kill me like you said you would.” Bucky stopped suddenly and Steve bumped into him. “Wha—“

“You weren’t my target,” Bucky growled, his Russian accent still slurring his words in odd ways. “I would have killed you if you were my target.”

Steve shot him a look. “Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure I heard you say I was your mission.” He gave Bucky a light shove forward. “Come on.”

Pedestrians were growing curious and Steve didn’t like it. Bucky’s metal arm stuck out in the crowd even amongst all of the rich colors and hues. It was still something out of place, something too large and too shiny and too moving. If Bucky noticed, he wasn’t giving any signs. Maybe he was just used to being stared at by now.

“Look, look!” a shopkeeper called. “You don’t want to go home empty handed, do you?” Steve glanced over, feeling obliged to respond like he knew was intended. Markets like this were traps, relying on tourists’ inability to be impolite. Steve shook his head, but the man just laughed. “Come and look. You and your friend. I have good—“

Suddenly Bucky was gone.

Steve was alerted by a loud curse from in front of him, and a yelp of surprise as a man was knocked aside. Bucky was tearing through the crowd, his metal arm poised in front of him like a metal barge breaking up pack ice.

“Dammit!”

It had been too easy, and now he saw why. They were close to an entrance and Bucky had been waiting to get out of the tough escape spots. He should have been more careful!

Steve started after him, using the wake behind Bucky to speed up without running into people. There were still a few bodies to dodge as he ran, but he was catching up, all the while cursing himself for not using the nylon cuffs Natasha had warned him to use. He was going to be in hot water for that, he was sure.

Bucky turned sharply, but Steve anticipated it and got a few extra feet on him. He was close enough to hear his old friend’s ragged breathing, though not as ragged as he remembered it being. Bucky had always despised running, but he could hike for a week straight and not complain once.

Something moved past his ear and Steve instinctively ducked his head away, though if it had been bullet it would have done him no good. When he looked up, Bucky was ripping something from his neck and stumbling forward.  Despite his confusion, Steve’s first reaction was to rush forward and catch Bucky as he fell, before he hit the dust floor. A little spot of blood formed on his neck as Bucky wildly tried to escape, though his movements were too erratic to do much of anything but make him look like an idiot.

“Hey, I gotcha,” Steve assured him, lowering his friend down gently. He glanced up when he noticed movement close by and sighed. “I said I didn’t want to sedate him.”

“You also said he wouldn’t run,” Natasha replied, holstering her dart gun. “Good thing I don’t listen to you too much. Come on, let’s get him out of here. If he’s anything like you, that won’t last long.”

Steve hooked an arm around Bucky and hoisted him up over his shoulder. Naasha tapped him and he stopped, then pursed his lips when he heard he zip of nylon.

“Didn’t I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, readjusting Bucky’s weight. So much for not getting stared at.

Natasha threw him a smirk once she was finished securing Bucky’s hands, then led the way towards the entrance where their armored van was waiting.

 

* * *

 

 

“Man, I don’t like this dude,” Sam Wilson muttered as he stared at Bucky through missile-proof glass. “I mean, the first time I saw him I didn’t like him either, but now…this dude’s whacked.”

Steve’s eyes were distant, thinking back to the time Bucky told him to drink saltwater out of a cup and he’d been stuck throwing up water for an hour while Bucky apologized and rubbed his back, swearing he hadn’t known it made people sick. To think that same man was just beyond the glass, slumped into a chair.

“We really should remove his arm,” Natasha said. “He’s too dangerous with it.”

“No,” Steve murmured, shaking his head. “His arm stays on. Making him feel defenseless won’t make this any easier.”

“It’ll make sure he stays put, though,” Sam said with a raise of his brow.

Steve just shook his head. They weren’t going to remove Bucky’s arm and that was that. “Did the results come back?”

Natasha nodded once. “He hasn’t been wiped since before the attack. Something’s been triggered to activate him going rouge, but Bruce said that’s probably because Pierce was his handler and his death nulled the mission parameters from before.” She didn’t look too convinced though.

“You think he still wants to kill me,” he said.

“I don’t know. He’s calmer now, yes, but you saw how he was in the bazaar. He was trained like me. He knows what he needs to do to succeed. If that means pretending he’s Bucky, then that’s what he’ll do.”

“Like I said, he’s whacked,” said Sam, clicking his tongue. “Dude’s gonna get you close and slit your throat. Like those people with pet tigers, man. One minute they’re a giant house cat, then bam! They’re using your skull as a chew toy.”

Steve took a deep breath, crossing his arms. “What did Bruce suggest?”

Sam let out a groan, clearly fed up with his hope. Natasha lifted her chin, but Steve couldn’t read what was going on behind her eyes.

“Bruce said we can’t go about traumatizing him.  He said it’s similar to PTSD. Familiar names, events, and places will probably send him into a self-defense mode. Like when he first heard you call him by name.”

“And then I took him out,” Sam made sure to add.

Natasha shot him a look. “Obviously, traditional forms of therapy aren’t going to work so well with him. We have to be careful to just bring Bucky back first, then slowly allow him to accept previous memories as the Winter Soldier.”

“What happens if he remembers all at once?” Steve asked, watching as Bucky’s head lolled sideways, dark swaths of hair covering his eyes. He was waking up.

“Assuming Bucky didn’t enjoy murdering mothers and children and skinning people to get them to talk, the trauma might very well cause him to fall into a permanent relapse,” Natasha said. She was being polite, Steve knew.

“Bruce suggested partial integration,” she continued. “New place, new surroundings, new people. Somewhere where he’s never killed and doesn’t look like anything he would recognize from the war. Except…you.”

Steve blinked, turning to look at her. “Me? If he isn’t supposed to get triggered back into something, I don’t think I’m the best person to put him around.”

“Sure as hell ain’t gonna be me,” Sam said. “You said he had the chance to kill you, but he left you. Somethin’ tells me he wouldn’t a done that for me or her.”

Natasha finally relented and elbowed Sam in the ribs. “We have a lot of doctors in SHIELD, not just Bruce. We even have a few who weren’t originally on our side. They all seem to agree that putting him with you would be the best way to slowly introduce him back into…well, himself.” She glanced over at Bucky and pursed her lips for a moment. “There’s one catch.”

Steve sighed. Of course there was a catch. Why wouldn’t there be a catch?

“The most effective way to remind Bucky of who he was is to put him in his old roles with you. Particularly the ones before the war.”

He gave Natasha a look, not understanding. “What, so he’s supposed to drag me out on dates with women who don’t like me and beat up bullies in back alleys?”

Sam snickered, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, cause I can think of a whole bunch a women who wouldn’t want to date _you_ ,” he teased.

Steve rolled his eyes. Women still made him uncomfortable—very much so—but only when romantic involvement was concerned. Natasha was incredibly smart and capable of doing just about anything—he liked working with her and she was a good friend, but he’d never been attracted to her per se. She was beautiful, but she just had too many secrets. They would never work out. That, and he was pretty sure Clint would put an arrow through his head if he ever said anything to her. But he hadn’t been a complete introvert about dating—the first date he went on since the war was so alarming that he’d had to do research before he decided to go on another on. A lot had changed in seventy years.

“I know you said you didn’t want to be involved in SHIELD again for a while,” Natasha started carefully. “But Bucky needs to go on missions with you. He can’t be taken out of duty or he’ll go insane. That would be like telling me to go be a housewife.” Her nostrils flared even speaking about it, which was funny to Steve. “All he knows is how to complete missions and kill people.  So, the ideal plan would be to station you both in a new location and carry out a few low-profile missions to start easing Bucky back into his memories.”

“And how am I supposed to do that, exactly?” he asked, a bit frustrated. “I can’t just start retelling a bunch of stories and hope he magically remembers what he’s supposed to remember.”

The corner of Natasha’s lip twitched into a half-smile like it usually did when he cracked a joke she was too tough to laugh at. “No, it won’t be like magic. But being around you will trigger a lot in the first few days. Bruce thinks in a month he’ll be at least half Bucky. The more he remembers, the more he’ll connect with you again, which will trigger new memories.” She hesitated. “That’s the theory, anyway. But there’s always a chance you could trigger bad memories too.”

Steve nodded once. HYDRA would never be forgiven for this, that was for sure. This was Bucky, but right now he was so mangled up in his brain that the only thing he could remember was that he had a mission. He responded to “the Winter Soldier” but didn’t think of it as a name. He needed some sort of name.

Bucky’s eyes opened slowly, but they were in such startling contrast to his dark hair that it was as if two lights turned on in the holding cell. He blinked a few times, then started tugging at the straps holding him down to a chair. Russian started spewing from his mouth and all three bodies on the other side of the glass stiffened, though only Natasha understood what he was saying.

“Steve, you should talk to him. He doesn’t know where he is,” she murmured, voice somber.

“I don’t speak Russian. Why don’t you go?”

She shook her head. “I have a past with him. Might trigger something bad. You have to go.”

Sam clapped him on the back. “Good luck in there, man. If it turns out he’s got metal teeth, get outta there. “ Sam bared his teeth, snapping them together like an angry Doberman.

Steve shot his friend a look, but he was secretly grateful that at least one person could turn this situation into a joke. Tony probably would do the same thing; he would just be less nice about it.

 

 

Bucky stopped fighting when Steve entered the room, but he was still breathing hard. Steve didn’t say anything; he just pulled up a less-than-comfortable steel chair and sat down next to Bucky’s chair in the least threatening way he could imagine. Whatever experiments had been done on Bucky, he certainly didn’t look the same up close when it came to muscle mass. He was only a little less built than Steve was, with an impressive lung capacity that he was currently demonstrating as his chest and back seemed to expand and contract like they were powered by a machine. Bucky turned his head, hair a mess around his face, but his eyes like a wildcat’s.

“You,” Bucky snarled, upper lip curled in disgust.

Steve was used to dealing with prisoners and with keeping a straight face when he had to. “Me,” he said quietly. “Do you know who I am?”

“Fourteen ninety-nine Massachusetts Avenue northwest. Apartment 3057, fourth floor. One door, four windows, rooftop access down main hall,” Bucky replied as quickly as if Steve had asked him a simple math problem.

He swallowed. That was his address, his apartment. A horrible feeling crept up his spine as he wondered just how long Bucky had been watching him there, waiting for the right time to take him out.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, do you know my name?”

Bucky looked at him like he’d asked a trick question. Then: a flicker of recognition. Steve’s heartbeat escalated, elated to see—

“Istanbul. You grabbed me. Brought me here.”

His excitement plummeted immediately. A frustrated sigh escaped him, and he could practically hear Sam echoing it just behind the glass. “Yes,” he said. “I found you in Istanbul. But do you remember my name?”

They locked eyes, and for the second time in his life, he was afraid to look at Bucky Barnes. The first had been when he fell off of the train. There was so much coldness in his gaze that if someone told him this was just a Bucky look-alike, he would have been glad to believe them.

“You’re the one who called me Bucky,” Bucky murmured, watching him carefully. “Steve.”

To hear him say it almost brought Steve to tears. They had fought and punched and strangled and yet never once had Bucky said his name. “Yeah,” Steve choked out, the same way he did with Peggy on Saturday afternoons. “Yeah, Buck. It’s me.”

For a long moment, they looked at each other; Bucky with guarded curiosity, and Steve with nostalgia. If someone told him this man was a Bucky look-alike now, he wouldn’t believe them. This was Bucky. This was his best friend. “Do you…do you remember me at all?” He tried to think of something attached to Bucky that wasn’t morbid. “Like, the Stark Expo? Howard Stark—“

“And Maria,” Bucky said with a stiff nod. “High profile, engine explosion by remote detonation. Cliffside, interstate in Malibu California. Make noise, be flashy. Put half a bottle of vodka in the glovebox to get attention in the papers.”

Steve’s heart stopped in his chest. No, no, no. He shook his head ever so slightly; unable to believe that Buc—the Winter Soldier—had been the one behind Tony’s parents…He put his head in his hands.  “No, Bucky. No.”

After a few moments to collect himself, Steve looked up again, eyes red but no tears wetting his cheeks yet. He could do this. He could. For Bucky. Bucky was looking at him, but for the first time since the helicarrier, it wasn’t with complete loathing.

That is, until he opened his mouth and spoke almost too quietly to hear:

“I told you not to call me that.”


	2. Chapter 2

 It felt a little like betrayal to lie to Bucky, but that was what they ended up doing. Steve could find no way to convince him that going on missions together wasn’t a trap, so it was partly his fault that they had to call Fury in. Bucky didn’t like being called Bucky either, so Steve was in a bit of a bind there. Every time he called him by name, Bucky glared at him or stopped talking entirely. They didn’t really talk about much anyway, Steve just explained where they were and that the only reason Bucky was tied down was because his method of extraction in Istanbul proved that he needed extra restraints.

After an hour with not so much as a single recalled memory, Steve was called out and Fury was sent in. Steve had no idea when he had started listening.

Natasha took a stand by the door and that should have been his first clue that something was awry.

“Pierce is dead,” Fury said after taking a seat. It was then that Steve noticed he was wearing his old getup, abandoning the sunglasses, hat, and hoodie outfit that he’d been wearing (in some variation) since the helicarrier crashed.

“With Pierce dead, you’re under my command. Unless you think that going rouge is a good idea.”

Steve tensed, immediately going for the door, but Natasha stepped in his way with a brow lifted in warning. “He needs a push, Rogers. That’s all we’re giving him. A push.”

“That’s all _you’re_ giving him,” Steve hissed. “Not ‘we’.” Barely two months since the HYDRA infiltration was discovered and here was SHIELD, running around behind his back again.

“What were you going to do? Your technique wasn’t working.”

He set his jaw, but didn’t argue. She was right, but he still didn’t think Fury had the right to go in there and start feeding Bucky lies without asking.

“Maybe your friend here didn’t explain things clearly enough,” Fury continued, prompting both Steve and Natasha to look back through the glass again.

“He isn’t my friend,” Bucky sneered, his Russian accent more evident now.

“Well he is now,” Fury said firmly. “Captain Rogers is your new partner.”

“I don’t work with partners.”

“So you’re telling me you can kill all those people, go on all of those undercover ops, but working with god damned Captain America is too difficult for you?” The tone Fury was using had Steve on edge; he was talking like Bucky was being punished for something. Worse, it seemed to be working.

“You can brood all you want,” Fury said, standing up. “But you better know ‘im like the back of your hand because you two are gonna be partners until we’re one hundred percent sure you’re not gonna go batshit insane.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky murmured after a moment.

But Fury wasn’t done. “That man out there put his ass on the line for you more times than I can count. You can at least show him a little respect.” With that, he left the room with a scowl. A scowl that fell as soon as he came through the door, though Fury always kind of had an angry look about him.

“Thanks,” Steve said after a moment.

“I owed you one,” Fury muttered, then strode past and back out into SHIELD headquarters. That was the second time Fury had “thanked” him. Every time, it meant a lot.

“Why does he get to just show up whenever he wants?” Sam complained. “I been here since five thirty— _in the morning_ —to deal with Edward Scissorhand in there.”

Steve chuckled. “I really appreciate you being here, Sam. Your don’t have to stay anymore.”

“He’s right,” Natasha said, straightening. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, miss warden lady,” Sam cracked. With a forearm-grabbing “bro shake” (as Sam called them) and a nod to Natasha, Sam followed Fury out the door.

Steve looked back to the holding cell. Bucky looked calmer, at least. He had a real mission now, Steve supposed. They were at least going to try to get along.

“Come on, you two have a flight this afternoon,” Natasha said. “And I think your friend would be grateful for a sandwich.”

 

 

 

Steve packed in record time, though Natasha assured him that she could send anything he’d forgotten. They would be dropping off a whole mess of clothes and supplies for Bucky anyway. Even so, Steve didn’t quite feel secure unless he had his belongings all together. Really though, he was just excited to finally start on getting Bucky back to normal.

On his way to the tarmac, Bruce called him and told him what topics to best avoid: HYDRA, Russia, trains, and the names of a few of Bucky’s previous handlers that Steve scrawled in his notebook of things, though he had never heard of most of them, so he doubted that would be a problem. Talking about the war was fair game, which was a relief for Steve.  He just had to be careful and look for warning signs: changing the topic, sweating, looks of discomfort. He also had to have a plan about how to ease Bucky through moments of trauma that would undoubtedly occur. The rest of the ride was spend thinking about how he would do just that.

When he boarded one of Tony’s private jets (marked by the giant “STARK INDUSTRIES” plastered on the side), he was startled to find Bucky already inside.

“Oh,” he stammered, fumbling with the paper bag in the hand that wasn’t holding his shield. “Um, I brought you a sand—I brought you a sandwich.” He held out a lump wrapped in brown tissue paper. It was unmarked, because Steve had made it himself.

Bucky looked at it like it might be poisoned, but reluctantly took it. “Thanks.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. He dropped his bags by the door and took the seat across from where Bucky was playing chess. Back in the day, Bucky had hated chess, claiming it was a boring game for old men in parks. Now they were old men on a private jet, though they’d barely aged at all.

“How’s the game going?” Steve asked, eyeing the kings on the board.

“Decent,” Bucky replied, leaning back to unwrap his sandwich. There was still a healthy amount of hatred in his voice, but much less than before. He owed Fury big time.

He started unwrapping his own sandwich and watched as Bucky took out a pawn, then took a big bite of his sandwich. It was nostalgic, because despite wearing what seemed like a whole new body, Bucky still ate with that big sideways slant of his jaw.

“You forgot the tomato.”

Steve froze. When he dared to look up, Bucky had stopped chewing, looking equally as startled. Steve’s heart leapt to his throat, trying to rein himself in and not make a fool of himself like he had last time. “…What?”

Bucky looked at him, swallowing his bite. “This…this is my favorite kind of sandwich. Just, you forgot the tomato.”

It took him a second to figure out why Bucky’s voice sounded so different, until Steve realized the Russian accent was gone, replaced with…”You said you never wanted to eat a tomato again after eating that can of—“

“Those were diced,” Bucky interrupted, then his brow creased. “Why…How do I know that? How is this my favorite sandwich? I don’t have a favorite sandwich.” He was starting to panic.

Signs of stress.—Bruce had warned him about this. Steve cleared his throat and looked his old friend dead in the eye. Surprisingly, Bucky only looked at him with confusion, not frustration. “Hey. We’re gonna be partners, remember? I gotta know my partner’s favorite sandwich.”

“Then why do I remember eating rotten diced tomatoes?” Bucky was leery now, aware he was being lied to.

A warm smile found its way on Steve’s face. “We were in Italy, just for a few days. You were bragging to everyone about girls and you cracked a pretty nasty joke about the daughter of the man who owned the shop we were in. Remember that?”

Bucky’s brows knitted together, then he nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I do. She had a green dress, right?”

Steve was having a hard time containing himself. They were making progress, finally. “Right. So when you ordered a sandwich, the guy put rotten tomatoes on it.”

“You were there,” Bucky murmured.

He nodded. “Yeah, Buck, I was.” God, had Bucky been so sick after that. It was one of the few times Steve remembered him looking like he was going to faint. “I’m your friend, remember?”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “I remember rotten diced tomatoes and a sandwich. That’s it.”

Clearly, it wasn’t, but Steve wasn’t going to press. Bucky had remembered something, even if it was something as stupid as rotten, diced tomatoes and a sandwich. It was something, and that made him feel warm all over. Bucky would come back, he knew it now. They just had to start fresh.

He reached out a hand. “I’m Steve Rogers, by the way.”

Bucky looked at his hand and then back up at him, but didn’t reach out to take it. “I know. And I’m Bucky Barnes, am I not?”

The Russian had returned in him, but Steve wasn’t going to be deterred. “That’s who I know you as, yes. But if you want to be called something different, I’ll respect that.”

Bucky clucked once before moving another chess piece. He collected a now-dead pawn, and stuck it in his collection. “If I give you a name, it will be worse when you forget it.”

“I won’t forget it,” Steve promised.

“But you will have to remember.” Steve nearly flinched at the sheer annoyance in Bucky’s gaze. “When a sniper has crosshairs on my head, you will be thinking ‘Winter Soldier, not Bucky’. In that time, I will be dead.”

With a hard swallow, Steve lowered his gaze. Bucky had a point there. He _would_ have to remember not to call him Bucky, especially in a combat situation where Bucky was at risk. “So…what do you want to do then? Is it okay that I call you Bucky?”

“No,” Bucky snapped. “But you will call me it anyway, so why bother?”

Well, that hurt. His face fell, but he nodded grimly. “Okay. I’ll try not to, unless you have a red dot on your head.” He said it as a joke, but Bucky didn’t look too happy.“Look, this is hard for me too, okay? I’ve known you as someone else—as Bucky. I can’t help that. But whether you like it or not, we’re going to be working together for who knows how long. The least you can be—“

He should have seen it coming, but he didn’t. Bucky’s metal hand clamped around his throat, squeezing the air right out of his lungs

“The least I can do,” Bucky snarled, “is not slit your throat while you sleep. Or take you out when your back is turned and blame it on whoever we’re supposed to slaughter. “ He gave Steve a shake, eyes like blue-grey daggers gouging out all of the hope that had nestled in Steve’s chest.

“Do not think I will hesitate to tear you open like a dog. I am not Bucky, I am not your comrade, I am a soldier with one failed mission. One,” he spat, but Steve could hardly hear over the blackness in his eyes, shrouding out everything but the rings of Bucky’s irises.

“And now they insult me—rub salt in my wounds—by putting you at my side. I do know you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky growled. “And I _hate_ you.”

He released Steve with a shove that sent him tumbling backward onto the plush carpet at their feet, the world spinning and swaying as Steve fought for air.

As he regained full consciousness, he watched as Bucky sat down again, resuming his chess game as if nothing had happened.  Nothing flickered in his eyes—they were dead, with no remorse, guilt, or even awareness.

The plane began to move and Steve shut his eyes, trying to forget what had just happened. This was Bucky, this was his friend. _Bucky_ had remembered diced tomatoes and that his favorite sandwich was on white Wonder bread with ham, mustard, pickles, cheese, and—before 1944—tomato.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived at the flat a few hours later, and Bucky’s mood had gone from bad to worse. He was angry at everything and even angrier when he saw the town they were going to be living in.   Steve liked it a lot, which was probably why Bucky hated it so much. It was a quiet town on a sweeping lakeshore, full of mostly elderly people and tourist types. It was perfect for undercover ops to be run from one of the few apartment complexes. No one would suspect a thing.

Their flat smelled like fresh cut wood, but only because the doorframe had just been replaced. The inside was well lived in, just how Steve liked it. They had a spectacular view of the lake from the living room, with a comfy couch and a flat screen TV he was sure they would never use. 

Off the living room was an open doorway to the kitchen/dining room, the oak floor sprawling into both spaces to give it a continuous feel. The dining room area had a sliding door out to a small patio, clearly designed for a retired couple that would rather watch the lake than get anywhere near fussy children and sand. The whole place had a very relaxed atmosphere—which wasn’t accidental, he was sure.

“Nice place,” Steve commented, reshouldering his duffel bag as he looked around, shield loosely in his grip. Bucky didn’t say anything, he was scanning the place like it was a mathematical equation.

The two bedrooms were small, one with a double bed and the other a futon that looked just as plush and comfortable. SHIELD had gone all out to secure this place, he was sure, but they had done an even better job of making sure everything was perfect for them. Having never been on a two-person mission of this kind before, it felt kind of like an arranged marriage or something planned by SHIELD. That thought made him chuckle quietly to himself. Back in the day, they would have killed to live in a place like this. It was beyond their wildest imagination to have two bedrooms back then.

Steve’s apartment had been a barren, glorified bedroom. It was freezing in the winter, and even after his mom passed, Steve hadn’t the money for furniture. All of it went toward paper and sketchbooks and colored pencils to try and break his way into the art world without an education beyond his three years of high school. He’d dropped out before graduation to help his mom while his dad finally succumbed to the effects of drinking away their every dime.  In the beginning, before dropping out was even on the table, Bucky would bring him his schoolwork every day and try his best to explain what they had covered in class.

Those days were probably the highest Bucky’s grades had ever been.

 

Now, as he walked through the flat (he was avoiding picking a bedroom so Bucky could pick first) Steve remembered spreading out papers on the floor, drawing pictures until every inch of paper was used and only using his colored pencils on his favorite pieces. He slept on a thin mattress on the floor back then, with one pillow. In winter, he had four blankets to keep him warm, two of which Bucky had brought over and drove his mother wild when she screamed at him for losing a blanket. _“It’s a blanket, James! How on God’s good earth do you loose a blanket?!”_

“It will do,” Bucky finally said, then walked into the room with the futon. Steve was guessing that was because it didn't have any windows to be sniped through.

Steve moved into the doorway, lowering his bag and his shield to the floor beside him and crossing his arms. “You should get some sleep.”

Bucky started to unclasp his thick leather jacket, glaring up at his request. “I don’t need sleep.”

“You didn’t sleep on the plane, and you haven’t slept since we sedated you over twenty four hours ago. You need sleep.”

“No,” Bucky said with a jerk of his arm that undid the last clasp of his jacket, “I don’t.” He moved on the holsters and buckles that adorned the rest of him, all empty. Ah, that might have been the reason he was so on edge.  Nothing to protect himself with.

“Look, Buc—“ Steve stopped himself, clearing his throat. “Look, I have the serum and I still need at least four hours a night. I can go a week, but I’m not the—“

“I don’t really care,” Bucky growled, but Steve noticed his accent wasn’t as prevalent. “I’m not going to sleep.” He tossed a belt onto the futon, followed by two holsters, then started peeling off his kneepads.

Steve pursed his lips, momentarily frustrated. “Okay, why not? Can you give me a good reason?”

Bucky looked up, metal arm across his chest as he peeled of his lone shoulder pad. “I don’t like sleeping.”

“That’s not a—“

“And I don’t trust you.”

Steve sighed as Bucky tossed both his kneepads and his shoulder pad on the bed, then finally shed the thick leather jacket he had been wearing since Istanbul. The shirt underneath was black under armour, with the left sleeve ripped off at the seam. Yes, Bucky had put on a lot more muscle since they had last been together.

“I don’t have any weapons,” Steve said. “Except my shield. If you want it in here while you sleep to make sure I don’t attack you with it, then by all means.”

Bucky scratched his head for a moment before running his real hand through his hair with a long sigh. Steve considered that an accomplishment, because sighing meant he was trying to relieve stress.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Steve murmured.

“Yet you know things about me that I don’t know. You call me a name that’s not mine.” Bucky sat down on the side of the futon and lifted a leg to shuck off his boots. “One of us is here under orders, the other one came on his own.”

Steve closed his eyes. “I’m here under orders too. If I was here to hurt you, do you really think I would go to all of this trouble? That SHIELD would go to all of this trouble? We had you tied to a chair and your arm was useless. I sat there for an hour talking to you—“

“You were trying to get information from me,” Bucky snapped. “Don’t pretend like that wasn’t what you were doing. Asking if I remember you? What was in that dart, huh? What did you and your friends put in there that you thought would make me forget?”

Steve frowned. “That’s not what it was. That story with the diced tomatoes, I was there, remember? You know me and I wanted to see—“

“You implanted me with that memory,” Bucky snarled.

“What?” He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Implanted you?”

“I know now,” Bucky said with a chilling lack of emotion. “How you seeded my brain and grew your weeds and cut them out when you were done with them.”

A slimy coldness settled in Steve’s chest. He knew that HYDRA had stripped away at Bucky until there was nothing left but his ability to kill and shoot and sneak around. But surely they hadn’t implanted him with…that wasn’t even possible. “No…  
 Steve shook his head slowly. “That isn’t what this is at all.”

“They want me to trust you,” Bucky continued. “But I’m not falling for it. I’m not falling for the fucking diced tomatoes and the fucking sandwiches!” He stood up sharply and Steve immediately stepped back, though his every instinct was to move closer.

“So I’m not falling asleep. I’m not gonna be you’re unsuspecting lamb to slaughter!” Bucky shouted, his body trembling. The wildness had returned to his eyes.

HYDRA had done their work. They had stripped and rebuilt so many pieces so many times…But the real Bucky was in there somewhere. Piece by piece, Steve would put him back together again, no matter how long it took. The Avengers could wait—everything could wait. Bucky had once sat up all night for two weeks straight while he had strep throat, holding him up so his back was straight and his lungs weren’t compressed. Even as Bucky himself had his throat so raw he could hardly speak, he’d given all of those wintergreen mints to him and refused to take even one. That was just one sickness amongst the hundreds. Steve had somehow made it through. Steve owed him this if only because he hadn’t been able to reach far enough to grab Bucky’s hand. Instead, he had watched him fall, but didn’t even have the strength to watch him hit the water below. There were a million other reasons too.

“What do you need?” Steve asked quietly, looking up at his friend.  “Just tell me what you need.”

Bucky opened his mouth to snap something back, but then abruptly shut it again, looking both stunned and incredibly angry all at once. “I need sleep!” he blurted out, shaking as he said it. “I’m fucking tired and I want to go to sleep, but I can’t because I know you’re going to fucking—You’re gonna—“ his mouth snapped shut again, but with a huff, Buckyw as shouting again. “Just get out! I need six hours.”

“Bucky, I can’t—“

“Don’t call me Bucky!” Bucky screamed, causing Steve to flinch. Their neighbors were probably already concerned about the new residents in the corner flat. “Don’t call me Bucky. I need six fucking hours without _you_. Starting now.”

Though he had been expressly told not to leave Bucky by himself, Steve decided to trust him. The look in his eyes was maniac, which was very close to desperate. Bucky needed to sleep and Steve was willing to do pretty much anything so that could happen.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, okay. I’ll leave you alone for six hours.  Let me just put my stuff in my—“

“Your bag stays here,” Bucky snapped. “So does the shield. Right here.”

“Okay. It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m not going to take anything. But if you need me—“

“I won’t need you,” Bucky spat.

“—If you need me I’ll be on the dock we saw when we drove in. Remember that?”

“Of course I fucking remember that,” came Bucky’s hissed response. “Two speedboats docked on the adjacent boardwalk, one fishing boat with three poles. One sailboat.”

“Right,” Steve said calmly, lowering his hands. “That’s where I’ll be. If you need anything, just find me there. I’m gonna get something to eat first, but I’ll be there.”

If Bucky had even comprehended what he’d said, he didn’t give any sign. He just kept staring until Steve backed out into the hallway. As he headed for the door, Bucky called after him.

“If I find out you’ve been in here while I’m sleeping, I’ll go against orders and slit your throat.”

 

It was only once Steve was outside that he smiled. The Russian accent was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed that they both needed a few hours alone. Steve was delighted to find that one of the shops sold Coke in glass bottles, so he bought a six-pack and got a big club sandwich and fries. A fast metabolism meant he ate all the time, but he liked food so it was never that big of a problem to eat all the time. Bucky probably needed to eat a lot too, so Steve bought him a sandwich as well. They would need to get groceries sometime soon. Well, Steve would have to go get groceries. He betted that Bucky wasn’t going to be interested in spending time deciding what kind of food they should be eating.

The town was certainly charming though,  Steve thought as he walked past beautiful pastel cottages and well kept flowerbeds in full bloom. It was a vacation town in full summer swing, but an old one, which made it a hundred times better for Steve. It had been awhile since he’d lived in a place where cars and subways weren’t the primary mode of transportation. Here it was walking and biking, with the occasional golf cart. It would be a good fit for Bucky too, he hoped. The atmosphere was slow and relaxed, cut off from the bustle of the rest of the world.

There was a wonderful breeze off of the lake as Steve made his way to the dock, the tension in his shoulders relaxing even though he hadn’t known he was tense at all. Dealing with Bucky wasn’t going to be easy, but it would be easier to deal with when he had a quiet town to escape to when things reached a breaking point. Which reminded him—he really hoped Bucky was actually going to sleep back in their flat, and not booby-trapping the place.

When he arrived at the dock, there were a few couples of varying ages walking it, and all of the benches were filled with other lovebirds watching the brilliant sparkle of the sun on the lake’s calm surface. Waves smacked the sides of the pier, nearly reaching over the edge in some spots, causing a few younger women to lift up their feet, saving their sandals from the wet.

Of course, he thought about Peggy. She would probably love a place like this. It was like a time capsule, the lake and the dock had been unchanged for decades, so it was easy to pretend this was the forties again. Sometimes when he felt like this it started making him feel dizzy, like maybe he’d really travelled back in time again. It wasn’t so impossible—he’d seen stranger things. It had occurred to him more than once that he could have been sucked into the Cube with Red Skull, and this was what was on the other side of that void: a world with “gods” that control storms, men in flying metal suits, and Bucky Barnes with a metal arm and a brain that wasn’t his.  And Peggy. Peggy, who could only remember him for thirty minutes at most.

Steve decided that all of this thinking was going to put him in a bad place, so he walked over to an old woman sitting alone and sat down beside her, offering Bucky’s sandwich. Six hours in the sun wouldn’t keep it fresh anyway.

“Are you giving me a sandwich or are you selling it to me?” the woman asked, unperturbed that a young (looking) man had just approached her. She was wearing a long floral dress, strange sunglasses that reminded him of a cat, a seashell necklace, and a sun hat with a brim wide enough that her whole face was in the shade. About the same outfit as every other older woman he’d seen.

“I’m giving it to you, ma’am,” Steve replied. “As long as it’s okay to sit here and eat mine.”

She scooted over with a laugh. “Is this some kind of charity work? Was I the saddest looking soul on the dock today?”

Steve laughed as he sat down. “Not at all, ma’am. I just prefer eating with company, is all.”

“Young men haven’t sought me out for company in a few decades,” the woman chuckled. “So who am I to complain?”

She unwrapped her sandwich and for a few moments they sat in pleasant silence, watching the boats far out on the lake and the way the light made the water glitter. The sun was warm on his back and the sky was clear. It was a perfect afternoon.

“So where are you from?” Steve asked after awhile.

“Kentucky. My family raised and trained horses,” she replied as if she’d explained it a thousand times.

“I assume you didn’t follow the family business?”

She shook her head with a nostalgic smile. “Oh no. My sister runs—well, her son runs it now—the stable. I love horses, but running a barn like that involved a lot more than love.” She let out a low hum, turning to him. “Have you ever been around a horse?”

Steve gave a little shrug. “I guess you could say that. It was a long time ago. I spent the night in a barn.” So had Bucky. They got separated from the rest of the team behind enemy lines. The safest spot they could find was huddled in the corner of a stall with a massive horse that was as terrifying in appearance as he was gentle in spirit. After investigating them for food and snuffling their hair for treats, he left them alone. Bucky had been scared shitless—he hated animals bigger than a dog.

“Mm. They are amazing creatures. If you ever want to learn how other people see you, step in a round pen with a horse. They’ll show you.”

“How’s that? I always thought they were panicky and a little unpredictable.”

“Not at all,” the woman said. She sat up a little straighter, clearly interested in proving him wrong. “We, as humans, try to communicate everything with our faces. We frown, we scream, we smile. Have you ever heard about animals seeing into your soul?”

Steve gave a gentle laugh. “Yeah, once or twice.”

The woman smiled. “Well, they don’t. Animals communicate with their faces and sounds as a last resort. The rest of the time they use their bodies. Just by the way a horse is standing, the way his ears are moving, or how high his head is, you can tell everything he’s feeling.

“So in turn, they are acutely aware of body language. My horses could tell when I was angry or sad just by the tension in my shoulders or the way I walked. Let me tell you; once you can read body language, people think you can read minds.” She rolled her eyes. “People can seldom find words for how they really feel, but body language can tell you everything they can’t say.”

Steve smiled, cocking a brow. Clearly this wasn’t the first time she’d explained this. “And you learned all of that from horses?”

“And practice,” she said with a laugh. “You would be shocked at how little it takes to sway human beings. My husband didn’t want to leave Kentucky, but oh, I did. I was tired of nothing but grass—I wanted to be by the water.”

“Looks like you got your wish,” he said, looking out to the lake again.

“You haven’t,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Steve turned his head to look at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

She lifted a wobbling hand and poked him right in the crook of his neck. Her manicured nail jabbed into his skin and he flinched instinctively, though it didn’t really hurt.

“You’re tense!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

He shook his head, chuckling at how convinced she was. “No, I’m not. I was a little while ago, but not now.”

She clucked with a disapproving shake of her head. “Unless you’re afraid of an old woman, you are a very tense man.”

“Sorry, ma’am—“

“If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t have flinched. Another horse trick.” She settled her sandwich in her lap before explaining further: “A horse that isn’t focused on you—say he wants to go back to the pasture and doesn’t want to ‘work’—will respond to you, but a tap on the rump will startle him. That’s how you tell if someone’s paying attention.”

She jabbed him in the leg and Steve jerked again, immediately annoyed with himself for doing it. He felt like returning the favor, but knew that was completely childish and poking an old woman (though he was older than she was) probably wouldn’t go over well.

“Now you’re frustrated,” the woman said with a sly smile before taking a bite of her sandwich.

“What, are you reading my body language to figure that out?” It came out a little harsher than he intended, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“No,” she said after she swallowed. “Your scowl says it all.”

“Flinching doesn’t mean I’m tense.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t always mean that. But it does mean your nervous system is over-sensitive for some other reason. Unfocused, stressed, or frustrated. Hell, you might be all three. Don’t worry, the first time someone showed me, I flinched too.”

Steve let out a long sigh. She was right and he knew it, but he just didn’t want to admit it.

“Now you’re calming down,” the woman smiled. She turned to him and removed her sunglasses. “I’m not trying to upset you, dear. I just don’t think you should be so rigid in a place like this. I assume you’re new here?”

“Just moved in less than an hour ago. I wanted to explore before we unpacked,” Steve said.

“Ah.” She gave a knowing nod, though Steve wasn’t sure why. “Well, I suggest you come here at least once a day. It’s better than any medicine you can find in a bottle.”

“I guess I should find a horse somewhere too, huh?” He grinned, settling back into the bench to better look out at the lake.

“You don’t need one. You’re a smart young man—just pay attention.” She tossed him a wink then raised her sandwich. “Thank you once again for the sandwich.”

“My pleasure,” Steve said, shutting his eyes as the sun warmed his face.  After a moment, he opened one eye to look at her. “How’d you convince your husband to move from Kentucky?”

“He died.”

Steve gaped at her, trying to find something to say, but then she threw her head back with a laugh and nearly lost her hat.

“I’m kidding, my boy.” She swept her sunglasses toward the lake. “I left, he followed. Turns out I convinced him long before that, he was just scared to leave.” She lifted a hand to her necklace, rubbing her thumb over one of the shells. “Change is terrifying.”

“I’d agree with that,” Steve said with a nod, leaning his head back once more. “But that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Mm, but no less terrifying.”

They sat there for a while without saying anything, both of them mulling over the things in their lives they could have changed, might have changed, or wouldn’t change. Steve thought about Bucky, of course, and the look in his eyes as he had screamed for him to get out of the flat. Obviously, this entire ordeal was a change for him. Steve just had to help him through it. Maybe take him to the dock a few times, though he would have to find and excuse to convince him to sit on a dock for an hour and not try to find the nearest weapon. Maybe he just had to treat Bucky like a horse…if that made sense.

Mary (the old woman, though she claimed she was still yet young) bid him farewell an hour or so later, though she was sure she would see him again. _“No one is invisible in this town.”_

After that, Steve just watched the lake. He got a lemon ice from a stand at the end of the dock and walked the length of it a few times with his six pack of Coke, eyeing the speedboats in the distance and throwing disappointed looks to two kids who had shoved their brother into a pile of lake seaweed they had collected.

When he got tired of walking, he sat at the end of the pier, dangling his feet over the end and trying to practice not flinching when the waves licked his heels. Mary was right about his lack of focus leading to flinching—every time he started thinking about Bucky he jumped when he was hit with lake spray or touched by a wave.

Of course, Bucky didn’t show. Steve hadn’t expected him to, but when his watch alarm beeped he gathered his shoes and headed back to the flat, the sunset bleeding into the sky behind him.

 

 

He was nervous as he dug out the keys to the apartment. Hopefully Bucky wasn’t still sleeping, because there was no telling what that would mean if Steve disturbed him while he was sleeping. Bucky had his shield too, so there was that problem as well. He jammed the key in the lock and shoved the door open with his shoulder because it was a little bowed at the bottom, despite the new doorframe.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of fresh coffee. The flat was still in order though—there were no bloodstains on the floor. He could see into the kitchen from the door and was surprised to see Bucky standing there, arms crossed and hair in a little low ponytail, staring at a coffee maker.

“Hey,” Steve greeted.

Bucky looked up, not at all startled like Steve had been expecting. “Hey.” He looked back to the coffee.

Steve crossed the living room to Bucky, keeping a more than healthy distance between them. “I got you a burger and some fries.” He handed over a paper bag dotted with a few grease spots.

Bucky looked over and nearly knocked Steve off his feet when he gave a little smirky smile. “Thanks. I was just making some coffee.”

Almost immediately after the initial shock of seeing Bucky look normal, Steve was suspicious. Hopeful, but suspicious.  Six hours of sleep could certainly change someone’s attitude, but it didn’t make people trust each other—especially not the Winter Soldier. But he would play along and see what he could find out.

“You’re gonna drink coffee at night?”

Bucky glanced out the window at the sunset and shrugged. “Believe it or not, caffeine calms me down. And helps with headaches.”

Steve could only imagine the amount of headaches the other man had to deal with. “Do you have a headache?”

Bucky shrugged again. “I always have a headache.” His eyes were plastered on the coffeemaker, watching the dribble of dark brown liquid into the pot like a parched man looked at a drinking fountain.

“We could get you some aspirin or something,” Steve offered. “We do need to get groceries.”

“I know. I had to ask the neighbors for coffee.”

Steve tensed, swallowing hard. Bucky visiting the neighbors could have resulted in a few homicides, whether or not coffee was exchanged. “Well, were they nice?”

“I scared the shit outta them, I think.” Bucky smiled—actually smiled—and wiggled his metal shoulder. “They’d never seen a metal arm before. But yeah, they were nice.”

“Good,” Steve replied with a long breath. He had to relax.  Mary’s words echoed in his head about body language, but looking at Bucky gave no clues to Steve’s unpracticed eye as to how he was really feeling. He looked pretty much relaxed, except for the way he was waiting for his coffee. “I’m gonna go get unpacked,” he said decidedly.

“I already put your stuff away,” Bucky said nonchalantly, as if a few hours ago he hadn’t been screaming for Steve to get out of the flat and threatening to kill him in his sleep.

“Hey, I appreciate it, but I like to have my stuff—“

“Socks in the top drawer, shirts below that, pants below that, slacks, sweatpants, and jeans all separate. I remember.”

They looked at each other for a moment and a knot formed in Steve’s throat like he’d just dry swallowed his old allergy medication.  “…Bucky?”

Bucky shook his head, looking back to the coffeemaker. “No. I remembered though. You got new cologne.”

“Yeah,” Steve said weakly. “Alfred Dunhill doesn’t smell the same as it used to.”

Bucky had given it to him as a Christmas gift four years before the war, claiming that the only reason he didn’t have a girl was because he smelled like art. Steve was pretty sure he’d stolen the bottle off of someone because it didn’t look entirely full, but Steve had treasured it and eventually, after the serum, it had worked its charm a little too well. Peggy had been very angry about that.

“Well, I put it in the sock drawer.  I remembered that.”

Steve had always been worried someone would break into his flat and steal his cologne—God knew they wouldn’t touch his art supplies. For awhile, that cologne was the most expensive thing he owned. So he’d stuffed it in the back corner of his sock drawer.

He leaned against the entryway, crossing his arms. “So how does that work? You remembering stuff?”

The coffeemaker beeped and Bucky tapped the side a few times to get the rest of the coffee out of the filter, then pulled out the pot and poured a mug. “Want some?”

Though Steve wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, this was an opportunity. “Sure.”

He watched as Bucky poured him a mug, lifting the pot the way a professional chocolatier lifted a whisk in those Lindor commercials. For someone who probably knew how to murder someone with that coffee pot, Bucky had a pretty smooth way of moving with his metal arm.

“Want anything in it? We have sugar and that’s about it.”

Steve shook his head with a smile. “Black is fine.” He would regret saying that, but just sugar wouldn’t taste all that great either.  “You didn’t answer my question, Buck.”

The nickname earned him narrowed eyes, but they were gone quickly enough. Bucky took a swallow of his coffee and sighed. “It isn’t like I get to decide. I didn’t even know what I was doing when I put your stuff away. My hands were going on autopilot, but I just _remembered_.” He tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, but it fell right back out again moments later. “I don’t know how it happens. Something just tells me that I know how to do this, or that I used to know. But I forget things too. Like my accent. And if you asked me to speak Russian right now, I wouldn’t know how. But then it comes back and I can’t remember English.” Another sip of coffee.

“And then sometimes I don’t even realize what I’m doing,” Bucky continued. “I’ll talk and people give me looks and say I was speaking two languages mixed together.”

“I think with some time, you’ll be able to keep both sides,” Steve said, then cleared his throat before clarifying: “Bucky and the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky smacked his lips once before looking down at his coffee and running his tongue along his teeth. Silence breathed between them until: “You’re an optimistic fella, aren’t you?”

Steve chuckled. Stupid was the word Bucky would probably use before optimistic. Maybe ambitious.  There had never really been a time where he thought something was impossible. Unknown, sure, but not impossible. Fighting an army of aliens? They had managed. Taking down the HYDRA algorithms? Stressful, but done. “Yeah,” he said after sipping his coffee. Just as disgusting as he remembered. “I guess you could say I’m optimistic.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky growled. He grabbed his food and left the kitchen, shutting the door to his bedroom with a dull thump that left Steve blinking in stunned silence by the fridge all alone.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a lot of dust in Steve’s old flat. There was always a swirling film of it exposed by rays of sunlight that made the whole world feel like it was just some combination of grey, brown, and dull gold.  A lot of days he’d laid in bed for an extra hour, watching the way the dust swirled so slowly before just vanishing into nothingness. It helped him slow down after a night of over-thinking and concocting daredevil plans to get enlisted. Or those nights when Bucky hadn’t said goodbye before sneaking off with a dame and Steve spent half the night worrying he’d been found by one of those gangs.

Sometimes, he just really missed that flat, though he probably wouldn’t fit in it now. It probably didn’t even exist anymore—replaced by one of those big skyscrapers that had swallowed up the sky. 

Steve thought he’d found that little sliver of his old life when Bucky came back, but it was clear it would take a lot of time for that to happen. A lot of pain. Every time Bucky looked at him with that much anger, it just hurt. Things went well and then they went back to Bucky angry with him and threatening to kill him. He had enough things to worry about—why couldn’t he just get one good thing?

Okay, that was whining. He did have good things: he had Tony and Bruce, Clint and Natasha, Coulson and Thor. All of them were his friends and would go out on a limb for him if he asked them to. Natasha, for one, was calling in a lot of favors to keep Bucky in the real world. SHIELD probably wanted to lift his brainwashing with some other method, but he remembered what Natasha had said about allowing all of those memories to come back at once. 

A shrill cry jarred Steve from his fitful sleep.

He sat up in bed, eyes wide and totally expecting some sort of intruder. What was left of HYDRA could have somehow tracked Bucky down or—

He blinked, recognizing the noise as his cell phone. Squinting at the bright light of the screen, Steve grabbed the little device and stopped the alarm. A text from SHIELD flashed on the screen stating that their assistance was required immediately. There was a car waiting.

Steve stood up off of the bed with a yawn, heading over to Bucky’s room. He bit his lip as he opened the door, fully expecting to be punched in the face or stabbed in the gut with a kitchen knife for entering.

Instead, there was just the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall and Bucky sound asleep. For a moment, Steve just stood there with an ache in his heart because Bucky looked _normal_ like this. Eyes closed and his body curled up and pressed against the wall. That was something that he had started doing during the war. _“I need a way a knowing I’m not falling,”_ Bucky would say. _“I always have dreams I’m in a goddamn plane or I’m out in the open or somethin’.”_ Then Bucky would cuff him over the head or give his helmet a smack like he did whenever he let on he was scared. Ditches were the only exception to the back-against-the-wall rule, because then Bucky said he felt buried alive. Many a night was spent in a ditch though, so usually they had slept back-to-back. Steve had to admit that he always felt safer when he could feel Bucky breathing.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, opening the door a little more so that he could lean against it.

Bucky’s eyes opened—Steve could see the gleam of his eyes in the dim light—and he muttered something in Russian. Then he froze and Steve responded in kind like two dogs just before a scuffle.

“Chto?” Bucky spat, sitting up quickly and immediately looking around for a weapon.

Steve could only assume that was Russian. “Buck, it’s me, remember? It’s Steve.”

Bucky didn’t relax. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“SHIELD just contacted me. There’s a car waiting outside, so get ready.” He stepped out before Bucky could say anything else, figuring that the only things he would do was insult him or complain. Something told him Bucky didn’t know how to complain right now though. HYDRA had trained him to be a perfect soldier—a machine. Machines did not complain.

Getting ready was easy for Steve. The suit was comforting, especially for something that had been through a war with him. He slipped on his boots and pulled on his gloves, humming to himself and watching the door in case Bucky freaked and attacked him. He didn’t, but when he showed up in the doorway dressed in his Winter Soldier garb, Steve nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Do you really have to wear the mask?” Steve asked once he recovered.

“You really have to dress like the American flag?”

“I’m not the one with a red star on my arm.”

“Right, yours is on your chest,” Bucky returned with a glower. “Let’s go.”

Steve smirked all the way out the door, which seemed to make the Winter Soldier all the more angry.

 

* * *

 

 

The mission shouldn’t have been difficult, but it ended up with Steve nearly getting shot in the back about half a dozen times as Bucky took shots without any warning. All of the instincts they had built up with each other were gone—that much was evident when Bucky leapt out of their cover spot and shot their target right in the head without even checking to make sure it was the target. Steve hadn’t wanted to kill the man—a leader of a drug ring that had been slipping synthetic (and very dangerous) materials into his drugs to save cash. The guy had gotten a lot of people killed and critically injured, but prison in a SHIELD facility would have been plenty enough punishment.

After exposing himself to the entire stakeout full of dope dealers and the like, Bucky started dispatching them left and right, not even flinching when bullets whizzed by his ears close enough to blow his hair around. It was downright reckless even if it was effective. Bucky had always been independent on the battlefield, usually tagging behind and observing from afar, surveying the field and taking his positions with a strategy in mind. Steve would have gotten shot on multiple occasions had Bucky not sniped a target out of his blind spot.

With great reluctance, Steve raised his own assault rifle and took out a pair of goons that looked like they actually knew how to hold a gun, unlike many of their fellow men.

When the warehouse was cleared of threats, Steve was red in the face, thoroughly pissed off. The little SHIELD drone he’d sent out to ensure that no more hostiles were in the perimeter returned with the all-clear and Steve stood up with a huff, storming through the stacks of shipping crates to where Bucky was crouched over the body of their man, checking to make sure he was dead.

“What the hell was that?” Steve snapped. “You killed him! You nearly got yourself killed in the process!” He gave Bucky a shove, knocking him off balance and onto the concrete floor with a grunt. “And what ever happened to covering fire? We’re a team!”

Bucky dusted himself off as he got to his feet, his hands on his rifle like it was made of diamond and Steve might snatch it away. In fact, that was exactly what Steve wanted to do.

“You were moving too slowly,” Bucky said evenly. “Missions like this need to be done quickly.”

“Then you tell me,” Steve growled. “You don’t stand up and start shooting!”

He should have expected this. Bucky had long since lost his ability to work with a team. On the causeway he’d abandoned the men sent with him and apart from giving them orders to kill, Bucky had done everything himself.

Now, here in the dusty haze of a shipping warehouse, Bucky looked like he wouldn’t have cared if Steve had gotten a bullet to the face. He just breathed in his mask, sending little plumes of dust swirling in the shafts of light that were just beginning to appear with the dawn. Steve had a swollen lip from an elbow to the face and for the first time in a long time, his hands were trembling around his gun. It took awhile for him to realize why, but it was because he hadn’t actually felt alone in a fight since before the war. Someone always had his back, someone was always there.  But Bucky had just abandoned him mid-fight, leaving him exposed and alone to fend for himself without the promise of help.

It was terrifying. Even more so when he realized that this was what Bucky had been going through for the past sixty some years. Nobody was ever there to rely on except for himself.

Regardless, Steve couldn’t stay angry at Bucky for very long. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his gun and shut his eyes for a moment to collect himself.  “We’re a team, Bucky.”

“No, we were assigned a mission together. That doesn’t make us a team,” Bucky said, his metal index finger tapping the grip on his rifle.

“Well, we are a team okay? I’m not going to let anyone shoot you and you’re not going to let anyone shoot me, okay? These aren’t like your HYDRA missions. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Bucky didn’t look the least bit convinced.  His face didn’t show anything, really. He was looking at Steve like he might just shoot him in the head for daring to say a word about his antics.

“We’re a team. One of us is going to get killed if you don’t act like it,” Steve said, wrinkling his nose. The air was thickening with the reek of blood and death, a smell that triggered an instinctual human reaction to leave and get as far away as possible. At least, it did with Steve.

 

 

When they returned to the flat after a debriefing with a field agent, Steve was still frustrated with how the mission had gone. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault—okay, it was Bucky’s fault, but it was also his own fault for thinking that the Winter Soldier had any concept of what it was like to be on a team.  The only plus side was that someone had bought them groceries while they were away, presumably a SHIELD agent.

Of course, Bucky was upset that someone had been in their flat, regardless of what their objective was. He immediately started inspecting every crevice of the apartment, eyeing the walls like they might fall in on him, every decoration like it might explode on contact.  Steve didn’t try to calm him down this time, though he knew he should have. It was payback for ditching him and leaving him to fend for himself.

He didn’t even know why it bothered him so much, but he just wasn’t used to Bucky not being…Bucky.

“Did you give them a key?” Bucky asked after Steve had dropped onto the couch, too worn out to make himself some dinner. Hunger gnawed at his belly, but he ignored it out of spite. Making dinner meant he would have to make dinner for Bucky too.

“No, I didn’t give them a key. You honestly think they didn’t make doubles? They bought this place, remember. All they did was buy us groceries,” Steve said with a scowl, wishing he knew how to turn the TV on.

“Just because they bought the place doesn’t mean they can go snooping around.”

Steve threw him a pointed look from the couch. “Bucky, not everyone is out to get you, ya know. SHIELD wouldn’t try to do anything to you with me here.”

Bucky paused to glare at him. “Sure they would. You like to stay out of the fight, remember?”

That had Steve glaring. “No, because they know not to touch you. SHIELD isn’t getting their hands on you so long as I’m breathing. You’re safe from them, and safe from HYDRA.”

“I was safe _in_ HYDRA,” Bucky shot back.

Steve set his jaw, his temper flaring for a completely different reason now. “HYDRA played around with your head, Bucky—don’t you remember that? Every time your old self started to show through, they burned it right out of your mind.  You were being tortured.”

“I was a weapon,” Bucky snapped. “I _am_ a weapon. That’s my purpose. A weapon doesn’t have thoughts, it doesn’t have fucking memories about a fucking sandwich with fucking tomatoes! You’re the one who’s burning me. I wasn’t crazy before you came along. I wasn’t nuts. I was _me_. Then you start telling me I’m Bucky. Start feeding me things and making up stories.”

“It’s not like that,” Steve said, brow knitted with hurt. HYDRA had done a damn good job. Every time Bucky let on about how he felt, Steve got angrier at what they had done. It was as if they knew this was coming. They’d put in a failsafe just in case. “They’re the ones who are lyin—“

“I’ll decide who’s lying,” Bucky hissed, venom dripping in his words. “I’ll decide.”

It was pointless to argue, especially because Steve knew it would probably only end with another fight and another door slammed in his face. “Okay fine,” he muttered, sitting up and moving off of the couch. “Just forget it, okay? I’m gonna make us dinner.”

Bucky was silent for awhile as Steve threw together a chunky soup with fresh chicken and herbs (whoever had shopped for them was keen on Steve’s healthy eating habits). He hummed to himself as he watched the swirling vegetables and meat, thinking back to the days where men would have gladly killed each other for a meal like this. Sometimes he felt guilty, but it wasn’t as if he could step back in time and hand over his soup to the starving families who lived in all of the nooks and crannies that didn’t charge rent. 

When he announced dinner was ready, Bucky took his bowl out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him in a clear message for Steve not to join. For once, he listened, and Steve sat at the dining table to check his phone. An unread message from Natasha appeared in the screen:

 

_Picked you up some food. Left a few Slavic recipes in the breadbox that Bucky might like. Also, his clothes are on your bed. Cologne in your sock? Nice._

-       _Nat_

 

Steve’s face reddened at the thought of Natasha digging through his underwear drawer for God knows what. He didn’t text back and she knew he probably wouldn’t—mostly because he liked to use the speaking function to text and Bucky hearing what he had to say to her probably wouldn’t end well either. 

He washed his dishes in the sink once he was finished eating and then moved into the living room for a long time, even opening the front door, then shutting it a few moments later and heading into his bedroom.

A black duffel was on his bed, one that he promptly moved and set in front of Bucky’s door. He assumed that Bucky had his own clothes or…He prayed that who ever had purchased his wardrobe had not gotten any input from Sam Wilson.

When he opened the sliding door to the balcony he was met with a warm breeze and the smell of a coming summer rain. Bucky was perched in a chair, rubbing his jaw in thought, unmoving as Steve approached. The stars were as abundant as they used to be when they were younger, before the light pollution had begun to drown them out. It was reassuring, in a way—the stars would always be there.

“An agent came by and dropped off your clothes. I put them by your door.”

“Hm” was Bucky’s only reply.

With a sigh, Steve left him to contemplate the stars.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks and six missions later, not much had improved. Bruce had said in a month that half of Bucky would be back, but Steve didn’t see much of anything changing in his old friend. The Winter Soldier stuck around, occasionally cooking a meal (always only enough for himself) or walking around the town to scope out if the perimeter had changed. Steve was lonely, though he hated admitting that. Bucky had done so much for him throughout their lives together—he felt guilty about wanting to go back to New York. He even called Tony once, which earned him a flurry of teasing and jokes about how he was probably just pining to get a good look at him again. Though he felt bad thinking it, Steve really would prefer to see someone else around the flat that didn’t have a metal arm and a bad attitude about everything.

The only good news was that their teamwork on missions was improving. Instead of striking out on his own and making reckless decisions, Bucky listened to what he had to say. When they had to capture a low-level boss in a mob family, they worked to well together that the boss was cuffed, gagged, and taken into custody without alarming any of the guards. Bucky’s skill with stealth had greatly improved since Steve had last saw him—as was his shot. Bucky could shoot a dime from 200 meters without looking down his scope for more than five seconds. His accuracy was frightening actually; the way Clint’s probably was to those who were on his bad side.

Other than that, they almost never spoke to each other unless they were arguing. Steve found he had no words to say—something that never happened with Bucky. But even so much as asking him to put salt on the dining table resulted in Bucky growing uneasy. He suspected Steve of trying to trigger memories in him by asking him to do things or even just having a conversation. Steve hated being quiet all of the time. The last time he’d lived in mostly silence was when SHIELD put him up in a nice apartment in downtown New York, right on Central Park. Even in his DC flat he had music playing all the time, but when he tried to put a record on, Bucky smashed it in an angry fit.

Okay, so that time Steve had been trying to get him to remember, but he still had been incredibly devastated to have that record destroyed. It was just another reminder that this Bucky was violent first, always violent, before he allowed himself to relax. And the only time Steve ever saw him relax was when he was asleep, back pressed snug to the back of the futon that he’d never folded down. But Steve only caught him sleeping sparingly, particularly after their more gruesome arguments. They were becoming wilder, or so Steve thought. When he’d called Bruce about it while Bucky was on a “perimeter check” Bruce said he was probably under high mental stress. _He’s at a tipping point. Either HYDRA is going to win this one, or you are,_ Bruce had said.

 

 

A call came at 5:00am from SHIELD, requesting their assistance in taking out a known HYDRA operative. This man hadn’t been a part of SHIELD, but Agent Sitwell told them to watch out. They were only to kill their target and report any other ex-SHEILD personnel, not engage them. Undercovers were infiltrating HYDRA all over the globe, so familiar faces could be friend or foe.

Bucky seemed more convinced that Agent Sitwell was the foe on this one.

They were driven out to a lavish stable in the countryside not far from their lakeside neighborhood, which made Steve think of Mary. They had spoken to each other a few times since their first meeting, even once with her granddaughter (which Steve didn’t think was an accident). Their little town seemed to love them—well, Steve. A lot of the old men approved of Bucky’s silent demeanor, their gruff nods being one of the few things that seemed to make Bucky visibly uncomfortable. Half of the town thought they were a couple for the first week, until Steve learned that their neighbors had dispelled that rumor by sharing the details of one fight.

Steve thought it better that Bucky didn’t know people could hear through the walls.

“He has a horse that he rides every morning,” the driver said, grounding Steve to the present. “It’s black. Sometimes he takes out other horses, but he wears a black helmet with brown leather straps. On a day like today he’s probably in the outdoor paddock. Take him out quietly, but leave the horse.”

That meant it would be a tricky shot, but Bucky nodded with confidence that got Steve nodding too. They could get it done.

“Anyone else here or just him?” Steve asked.

The driver shrugged. “No clue. When he does come with help, it’s usually only two or three guys.”

With that, Steve and Bucky got out of the car; Steve in navy blue and Bucky in black. It wasn’t yet light out, so they blended in easily as they slipped past the open barn door.

An old man was sweeping the aisle, singing loudly and very much out of tune. Bucky angled himself to that his metal arm (and sniper rifle) was against Steve and out of sight. They both knew if a witness saw a man with a metal arm, they were in trouble. Steve kept walking and the old man didn’t pay them any mind as they slipped into the next aisle of stalls. Horses nickered and paced around in their stalls, letting out a few shrill whinnies that had the old man cursing loudly about how they’d be fed soon enough. The noise provided cover as they headed toward a door labeled TACK ROOM. 

Before they stepped inside, Steve tapped Bucky’s shoulder to stop him, but Bucky kept right on moving. Right, metal shoulder. Steve prodded him the back and Bucky turned sharply, startled.

“There’s a walkway up there,” Steve whispered, pointing up to what he presumed to be the hayloft.

Bucky gave a curt nod. “You keep an eye out for anyone coming once I make the shot. One he’s taken out we’ll head out on the east side. If we get split up, go to the parking lot. We don’t have a lot of cover here.”

Just like that, they had a plan. Steve led the way to where he assumed would be a ladder to let them up, Bucky following close behind and covering down the aisle.

Steve didn’t hang around barns very much, as he had explained to Mary, but he couldn’t help but feel like the human activity was too quiet. The horses were certainly impatient, but there was no one here.

“It’s five in the morning. Nobody’s here at five in the morning unless they have to be,” Bucky said as though Steve had just spoken his thoughts aloud. “Trust me, I bet half of these people hire someone to take care of these things and then show up once a year and make a show of it.”

He didn’t know when Bucky had learned about horses, but he figured it was probably better not to ask right now.

They turned a corner and Steve paused as they entered a large, dark arena. It was empty except for some birds in the rafters chattering away, but in the dim light of a safety lamp, Steve caught sight of a wooden ladder.

He opened his mouth to say that he’d seen it when he noticed Bucky’s shoulder blades were pressed against his. Not hard—they were just barely touching—but he was warm. Steve realized he hadn’t so much as touched another person while he was here unless he was fighting with Bucky. So for a moment he just stood stock still, trying not to move and see if Bucky would move away.

He didn’t.

“Do you see it?” Bucky hissed, turning his head.

Steve felt Bucky’s hair tickle the nape of his neck and nodded slowly. “Yeah, there’s a ladder on the other side.

Bucky’s shoulders were gone and he took the lead as he jogged toward the ladder, leaving Steve to fumble behind him for a moment before catching up. Bucky climbed the ladder silently, which turned out to be a much harder feat for Steve. His only comfort was that Bucky was sitting at the top, watching Steve’s back as he climbed.

“Probably not a good idea to make any noise up here,” Steve huffed as he awkwardly climbed into the hayloft, not appreciating the way that Bucky was poorly holding back a smirk. “I think it would be like shaking a bag of dog food in a pound.”

 

 

It didn’t take long for them to set up in a good spot. They had to shift some hay around, but they managed to push enough into the stall below that the horse didn’t make too much noise. Bucky wanted to remove the little windowpane, but it was firmly set in the wall, so he was going to have to shoot through the window, so there was potential that glass was going to spray. Steve had his shield ready, just in case.

A man was indeed riding a black horse out in the back paddock, but it was a good distance away. Bucky was going to have to get a moving target at long range, but Steve was sure he could get it.

Their target was a slender man with curly black hair that peeked out from under his helmet. He was darker than Sam, with a strong jawline and perfect posture atop his horse, bouncing up in his saddle in a way that made it look easy. Steve had ridden a horse once: it wasn’t easy.

Bucky began to set up his shot while Steve started analyzing where enemies could come from should their target have brought his guards. He settled himself so that he could use his assault rifle and shift from point to point easily. They really were out in the open—barns didn’t have much cover. They all smelled the same though; it smelled exactly like the one he and Bucky had spent the night in. This one was much nicer, and had two giant aisles of stalls instead of the two stalls they’d had to choose from.

The gunshot scared Steve half to death it was so loud, even with the silencer. The glass didn’t spray, but the dust was shaken off the rafters from the shockwave as the muzzle of the sniper recoiled against the window frame. Horses screamed in fright, the two in Steve’s vision rearing up and slamming against the far walls of their stalls. He turned just in time to see their target fall from his now-galloping steed, then turned away when the man’s feet stuck in the stirrups and the bolting animal started kicking viciously.

Bucky expelled his bullet casing and grabbed it from the ground before folding up his sniper with a few clicks of metal.

“Let’s go.”

Steve nodded as shouts sounded from the first aisle of the barn. They were in a horrible position in the arena, but Steve took a risk and jumped from the top of the ladder, landing and rolling in the soft dirt of the arena without any injury. Bucky grabbed both sides of the ladder and slid down, his metal hand shaving off chunks of wood as he went.

“That door,” Steve said, pointing to the door across from the arena that led out the back. He let Bucky go ahead because all he had aside from his sniper were two pistols, so he needed to get to the door first.

They were entirely too exposed and as Steve looked into the aisle way he saw five men with guns running parallel to them in the opposite direction. One stopped for a moment to check his weapon, just as Bucky reached the door.

“Bucky, don’t—“

Steve’s warning came too late. Bucky slammed against the door with a loud clang of metal and the man looked up with Steve not quite at the door yet.

“I found them!” the man cried out, and more shouts followed.

Steve ran for his life, rifle in one hand and shield in the other as he tore across the dusty arena floor. It was hard to run on—he kept sliding—but he managed to get to the door with only two shots fired, both horrible misses.

Bucky headed for the parking lot as they had planned, with Steve running as fast as he could to catch up. Gunshots crackled in the misty morning air as they sprinted, Steve lungs burning with liquid fire as the humidity started to make him feel like he was choking. At least it wasn’t an asthma attack like in fourth grade when he’s finally been picked to play first base. He’d nearly died that afternoon on a parched grassy lot in the middle of New York.

Bucky chose to take cover behind a small tractor parked in the corner, and Steve charged to the spot before sliding in right next to him the way he should have all those times in baseball.

They were both breathing hard, but they were okay.

“There’s five,” Steve panted. “So much for the headcount.” This was a low-level mission—he’d forgotten that intel wasn’t that good on this stuff, even if it was for a Captain America mission.

Bucky’s hair was a mess around his face, enough that he had to shake it out to get in any semblance of order, his breathing making the leather of his jacket groan as his lungs fought for more air.

“Watch the door we came out of,” Steve said as he moved to look over the top of the tractor. “I’ll cover the main entrance.”

A man dashed out of the arena door and actually stopped running to point at them and shout: “Over there, by the—!“ Two shots from Bucky’s pistol had the man clutching at his throat, bright crimson flooding over his hands.

Another two came out of the main door and Steve picked them off with practiced ease. That was three down. Bucky shifted, readying himself for another fleeing victim. Heartbeats passed loudly in Steve’ ears as he scanned every possible crevice for movement.

Bucky swore in Russian, but other than that there was no sound except for what sounded like and extremely frightened horse banging at the wall of its stall. The mist muffled the noise anyway, shrouding them in a growing fog that Steve wasn’t too keen on. They needed to move before the sun got any higher and added more to it.

The crunch of gravel should have been a giveaway, but Steve didn’t notice anything until Bucky turned, putting the side of his pistol in Steve’s face and pulling the trigger, nearly deafening him.

He looked over and saw a man falling to the ground not fifty feet from him, right in his blind spot. They’d gone around. Somehow, they had snuck around. There was only one left though, so Steve felt a little bit better.

The roar of an engine with a distinct pitch alerted Steve that their ride was here, and sure enough a black SUV roared into the parking lot. One of the doors flew open, but to Steve’s surprise, SHIELD agents didn’t start filing out. Right, low-level mission.

With a shove from Steve, Bucky started running for the car with Steve covering as he ran. Then it was his turn.

He stood up and bolted, but after two strides he saw something shift in the corner of his eye. Instinctively, his shield went out on his left side. Two bullets bounced off not a moment later.

When he dropped the shield though, he saw a SHIELD agent standing there, his gun raised. Steve recognized him from DC—he’d been part of a unit dispatched to search for Bucky right after the attack. Without realizing it, Steve stopped running. What was this guy’s name? Cody? Collin? He couldn’t remember.

“I know who you are,” Steve called out. “It’s okay. All of the HYDRA agents are dead.” Cody-Collin was a good guy; he’d tested negative for HYDRA affiliation, Steve remembered. His big nose was kind of hard to forget.

The fog was really starting to thicken though, shrouding the kid from his view except for a hazy shadow. Bucky slammed his metal palm on the car, but Steve stepped closer to the SHIELD agent. Collin. It was Collin.

“Hey,” he said slowly. “Just get out of here. I’m not going to shoot you. Just run back and tell them what happened, okay?”

Collin shifted but didn’t say anything as he started to lower his gun. Steve took a big breath and lowered his shield, but not that much.

Enough though. Enough.

Collin lifted the gun and shot four times. Steve lifted his shield to deflect the bullets, flinching, not expecting the enemy fire. He closed his eyes and gripped his shield tight to him, shooting in the general direction of Collin with his other hand.

It wasn’t until he started to feel warm that he realized he was on the ground.  His shield was cutting into his hip and stomach, his arm awkwardly wrenched beneath him, still in a defensive position. He moved his free hand onto the shield to stand up, but it splashed in a puddle instead. When he blinked the water out of his eyes, Steve realized it wasn’t water at all.

He tried to speak, but couldn’t. So instead he wrenched off his glove with his teeth and felt over his body as best he could. His side was wet with blood, and when he touched his neck he immediately thought of a garden hose that had been sitting in the sun.

“Steve!” Bucky cried—that noise broke the silence. He was flipped over and Bucky was looking down at him, eyes wide and panicked as he started screaming something at the driver. Steve was aware of being lightly smacked on the cheek, but everything was going quiet.  “Stay with me, buddy,” Bucky was saying, nodding to get Steve to nod with him. “Stay with me, Rogers. I gotcha, I gotcha.”

Something warm was pressed to his neck as Steve began to shake violently, coughing and sputtering and spewing bright crimson blood from his mouth. Bucky got a big spray right to the face, but didn’t seem to mind. His eyes were so blue…

“The fuck were you doing out there, ya punk? The fuck were you doing? I told ya that stupid big heart a yours is gonna get you killed someday,” Bucky said, but his voice was slow and mangled. Steve turned his shoulders to the side and vomited, Bucky’s hand still on his throat.  His entire body was experiencing an earthquake—he’d never shaken this hard.

“Don’t you do that!” Bucky screamed, and Steve had no idea what he was talking about until his eyes were already closed. He tried to open them again, but then his brain told him he was very, very tired.

“You’ve had plenty a time to sleep, ya lughead! Stay awake!”

That was Bucky. Bucky! Steve fought against sleep because that was _Bucky_ out there, not the Winter Solider. That was Bucky Barnes. But maybe he was dreaming. He was probably dreaming. But if he wasn’t dreaming, hey, that was pretty neat.

“I’ve seen guys beat you halfway down the block and you got right back up. Don’t tell me this superjuice turned ya all soft, Rogers,” Bucky said.

 

The darkness swallowed him before Steve could smile.


	5. Chapter 5

When Steve woke up, he felt like he was breathing through an accordion. Dull beeps and low notes echoed his every breath, and a heartbeat monitor pinged near his head with every beat of his heart. His throat felt like it was made of sandpaper, but he still couldn’t grasp where he was. Everything was white and grey, with flecks of blue that turned to streaks or blurry lines sometimes. There were red dots too, and green. For a moment he tensed, fearing he was in the middle of an intersection, looking at the lights.

But he hadn’t been anywhere near an intersection, right? He didn’t remember much—just something about a garden hose. Oh, and Bucky.

A new noise caused him to stir, opening his eyes wide simply because they kept closing on him. Exhaustion was trying to pull him back to sleep, like it used to before he had a serum pumped through his veins that made him perfectly rested nearly every time he put his head on a pillow.

“Steve, can you hear me?”

Fog. Steve remembered a lot of fog as he tried to search through the blurry new surroundings. Something was poking him in the shoulder so he turned his head to see who it was, but his eyes went all blurry and tingly for a second when he did it, like he was going to pass out.

“Steve?”

Finally, a shape started to materialize. First he noticed two bright lights, then hazel skin, then…oh, those were glasses, not lights. A tiny smile ticked up the corners of Steve’s lips as he recognized Bruce.

“Burrce,” he murmured, brow furrowing when he realized it hadn’t come out right. “Burce. Br-oo-ce.”

“Very good,” Bruce said, scribbling some things down on a clipboard. He looked relieved, but then again Bruce always looked like that when he wasn’t in the presence of SHIELD agents or the like. With a definitive scratch of his pen across his paper, Bruce looked back up at him.

“Steve, you were shot three times. If it were anyone but you, they would have died. Thankfully, you have a combination of all kinds of things that kept you alive.”

So he’d been shot. Steve didn’t really remember that, he just remembered something about a warm garden hose by his face. “Whurr?”

Bruce pursed his lips a little. “One bullet broke your collarbone and went clean through your neck and shoulder. Another went through your arm—right arm,” Bruce added when Steve looked down at his left, “and another that went into your ribcage and punctured a lung. “

“How long’ve I been out?” Steve asked, his tongue rolling around in his mouth like a dry sponge.

“Not that long,” Bruce replied with a little bit of a smirk. Sometimes he just smiled like that though, so Steve took it as a good thing. “You were in surgery for the bullet in your ribcage for a few hours, then the anesthesia took a few hours to wear off. So in total, something like six or seven hours.”

That explained the grogginess that was fading ever so slowly. He had a fast metabolism to thank for that. He didn’t remember much of what happened, but he did remember—

“’S Bucky?” Steve drawled. “ ‘S he okay?”

Bruce gave a weak smile, then let out a small sigh. “Steve,” he started, and Steve was preparing himself for the worst already. “According to the driver sent to extract you, Bucky reverted back to…the Bucky you knew. He’s very concerned about you, but…”

“What?” Obviously, there was some bad news, but Bucky was back!

Bruce swiped off his glasses in the way that said he was uncomfortable breaking the news. “Right now he’s the Bucky you knew. But I want you to know that this isn’t going to be a permanent change. He’s not…he’s not ‘back.’ He could revert back to the Winter Soldier at any time.”

So he hadn’t been dreaming. He was sure that he’d heard Bucky talking to him before, but figured it was just a dream. It made sense, in a way. Bucky had always been there to protect him, so seeing him hurt had probably triggered that gut reaction to help. “You should let him in here,” he croaked.

“Don’t worry, I’m planning on it. But I’m going to stay in here just in case.”

Just in case Bucky turned Winter Soldier and took advantage of his weakened state. Steve tried to nod, but a horrible pain slashed up his throat when he did so.

“Whoa, whoa,” Bruce soothed. “You have to take it easy, Steve. You heal very quickly, but these wounds are serious. You were lucky that he was using armor piercing rounds, or we would have had to dig all three slugs out. I’ve requested you be put on leave for a week, but you need the next two days to be pure bed rest.”

“What about Bucky? If he turns Russian on me…” He didn’t finish. He couldn’t make himself think of Bucky doing something horrible to him.

“Taking care of you for the next two days is a specific order from Fury. I have confidence that the real Bucky will be around more than the Winter Soldier for at least those two days. Even if he isn’t, the Winter Soldier doesn’t fail missions. We can count on that.”

Steve wished they couldn’t, but he supposed that it wasn’t a bad thing that he was dependable. But there was one problem…”Does Buck…Does he remember?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes, he seems to remember everything. He knows how to use a cell phone and navigate the internet and all of the things that HYDRA would have taught him. But I don’t quite think he realizes that he knows how to do all of that. Just be careful. “ He stood then, depositing Steve’s clipboard in the little holder at the end of his bed. “I’m going to bring him in.”

Steve tried nodding again and was reminded not to when that pain tore up his neck again. Bruce gave him a sympathetic look and then headed out the door.

It was immediately evident that this was not the Winter Soldier when Steve saw Bucky in the window of his hospital room. Yes, he still had long hair and was wearing his same outfit, but his eyes—his eyes were young and bright. Ambitious and fiery like Steve remembered, but also worried. Maybe they had a bit of fear too.

When Bucky entered the room however, all of the emotions melted into a bright smile. They looked at each other for a moment, assessing each other. Bucky looked like himself again—this wasn’t some Winter Soldier attempt to trick him. At least, he hoped the Winter Soldier wouldn’t be that good at pretending. Bucky was the first one to speak.

“Lookin’ a little rough there, Stevie,” he said.

Steve could have cried right then. But he had made a point of trying not to ever cry around Bucky, so he just had a shine to his eyes as he said “yeah.”

Bruce went to the corner of the room, politely turning his attention to his phone to let them speak. Steve had a million questions, but none of them came to mind as Bucky pulled up the wooden stool that Bruce had just been sitting on and started drumming on the plastic side rail of Steve’s bed.  “Doc says you’ll be able to leave in an hour. We’re going back to the apartment, right?”

Steve never thought of it as _the_ apartment, but he smiled to say yes instead of nodding.

“Ah, right, can’t move your head.” Bucky had pieced it together rather quickly. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. But you gotta admit it was your fault for letting your guard down like that. Sitwell said to report SHIELD agents, not make decisions about whether they were good or bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered. “I knew that guy though. His name is Collin. Er…was?” He didn’t know if Bucky had killed him or not.

Bucky shook his head. “Maybe if you hadn’t started spouting blood like a damn cherub fountain than I woulda had a chance to shoot.” There was that trademark smirk.

Steve was beaming, feeling immediately rejuvenated to see the real Bucky again. Everything was different than the Winter Soldier: the way he looked around at everything with that curious gaze that Steve usually associated with getting into trouble, the drumming with his fingers, even the way his shoulders curved was different.

“ ‘S good to see you, Buck,” Steve murmured.

“Awh, goin’ soft on me, Rogers?” Bucky reached out his metal hand and Steve scrunched up his face, instinctively preparing for a hair ruffling.

A moment passed and he opened one eye to see Bucky staring down at his hand, flexing his fingers. He opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky beat him to it.

“I always wanted to be as strong as you after you got the juice,” Bucky whispered. “And one time I thought about getting in an arm wrestling match ‘n beating you. Square fight. Now,” he turned his metal hand, “I’ve got this.” He smiled a little, but Steve was not foolish enough to believe it was real. “Guess I got my wish, huh?”

“Bucky—“

“Ah ah. Don’t start with that,” Bucky said in warning, raising a finger at him. When Steve huffed and shut his mouth, Bucky smiled. “Hey, are you feelin’ okay ‘n everything?”

“Water,” Steve rasped.

“Hey Doc,” Bucky sad to Bruce, jabbing a thumb to Steve. “Can ya get my pal here a water?”

Bruce nodded with a smile. “Sure thing.” There was a sink in the hospital room, so it only took a matter of seconds before there was a Dixie cup of water being passed to Bucky.

Steve reached up for it, but his left side was still under the effects of the anesthesia.

“I gotcha,” Bucky said, lifting the cup to his lips. Steve sucked down the whole thing in one gulp, letting out a noise of contentment one his throat was wetted again. “Better than cough syrup, huh?”

As sure as there was snow in winter, Steve always got a cold. It was a winter-long ordeal too, coupled with asthma and heart problems that made it all the worse. Strep throat hit him at least once during that time, and sometimes Steve wondered how he’d even survived some of it. Probably thanks to Bucky, who scraped together a few nickels to get him cough syrup when he could and spooned it into Steve’s mouth while Steve went green in the face trying to swallow that disgusting “cherry” taste.

Steve closed his eyes, finally relaxing because Bucky was really back, even if it was only temporary. “Better than cough syrup.”

  

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t until Steve had to get up the stairs to their flat that he realized just how bad the damage was. His right arm was in a temporary cast instead of a sling because of his broken collarbone, and there was a massive bandage on his neck, one in the center of his shoulders right next to his spine, and bandages wrapped around his chest uncomfortably tight to hold a patch of gauze to his mangled ribcage. His reinflated lung coupled with a shattered rib was what really made the ascent up the stairs so difficult.

He had to stop halfway up the first flight of stairs, every breath like fire in his chest. Steve had been hurt before, certainly, but he’d never actually gotten more than a few stabs wounds (thanks to the Winter Soldier) and nicks and bruises from weapons. Physical fights had given him his real injuries, but he’d never actually gotten shot before.

Bucky didn’t try to hurry him along though, he just leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the staircase, thumbs tucked in his belt. His foot tapping gave away his wanting to get moving again, but—just like when they were younger—he didn’t say anything.

“You can go up there you know,” Steve managed to say between painful breaths.

“Yeah, I know.”

When Steve started moving again, he could only take two steps before having to pause. Now that he thought about it, there was probably an elevator in the complex, but Steve was so used to taking the stairs that he only ever used an elevator in Stark Tower. That was because Tony had made a point of yelling at him once when he’d actually walked up 40 flights.

“Lift up your arm,” Bucky said as he backtracked down the stairs a little to Steve’s side. Contrary to his observant nature on the battlefield, when it was just him and Bucky walking somewhere, Bucky was always in the front, scouting up ahead and doubling back like a dog on a hiking trail.  “Cahman, lift it.”

With a sort puff of breath in anticipation of pain, Steve reluctantly lifted his left arm. Bucky yoked himself beneath it, gently lifting his shoulders up until a blossom of pain reared up in Steve’s collarbone.

Bucky caught the look on his face and lowered himself a bit. “Hurt?”

Steve nodded quickly, his breathing short as the pain continued to radiate from the spot.

Bucky nodded, then nodded some more, swaying his head a little as he did it in the way that said he was coming up with a plan.  Sure enough, a moment later his hands were maneuvering Steve’s left arm into a right angle. Bucky hooked his shoulder up against the back of Steve’s, gripping his forearm with his hand to be a human support beam.

Steve was actually on the verge of crying from the pain by the time they got up the three flights to their flat. He tried to lean on Bucky for more support, but that shifted his collarbone and caused even more pain. Bruce had stressed that he needed to keep the movement especially minimal—his body healed so fast that he could actually be causing fractures in the new bone that was knitting itself together in there. Bucky tried to be encouraging, but by the end he was showing support by not saying anything at all as Steve took things one step at a time.

He’d expected to be in a state of constant happiness when Bucky returned, but instead things just felt normal. However, things hadn’t felt normal since before the war, so that was a huge testament to how he was doing. Bucky was acting like he’d been there all along—he knew where the flat was and said hello to the worried neighbors as they gave Steve sympathetic looks and huddled in their doorways in various arrays of nightgowns, curlers, and slippers. They didn’t ask what happened, but Steve knew it would be the talk of the town tomorrow.

“Hey, look.” Bucky grinned as they stopped once again. Steve was trembling from exertion and stress. “Steve, look.”

Oh, his eyes were squeezed shut. He slowly peeked an eye open, nearly collapsing when he saw only the flat wooden hallway they had to walk down to get to their flat. No more stairs.

Bucky somehow got the TV to work within five minutes of going inside, flipping to a nature channel. Steve blinked at him as lions darted across the screen after a zebra, a worn British man’s voice detailing the specifics of the hunt.

“What?” Bucky said with a shrug. “Wanna watch something else?”

Bruce hadn’t been kidding about the technology part. Even more odd was that when Steve did watch TV (Tony’s mandatory movie nights with Thor didn’t count), he always watched the nature channels.  The history channels angered him because there was so much false information about World War II, which seemed to be the main topic of choice. Other shows and channels just didn’t interest him; they were too flashy for his taste. It reminded him of those embarrassing war bond gigs he used to do.

“No, this is good,” he finally said once he realized he hadn’t replied. He settled himself on the couch a little more, popping out the footrest and reclining a bit. Climbing the stairs had completely worn him out and being in the familiar surroundings of the apartment was wonderful. Funny, he hadn’t even realized that he thought of it as home now.

He had a feeling that most of it was because Bucky was there, filling the place with all of the noises they’d had in their old flat for a couple of months before Bucky’s work changed and Steve took a pay cut that made it so they couldn’t afford rent anymore.

“Here,” Bucky said as he returned to the room with a few blankets. “You’re probably gonna wanna sleep upright with your lung ‘n all, so ya might as well have the TV to watch.”

“Thanks,” Steve murmured as he pulled the blanket up as best he could. But when Bucky started leaving the room again, Steve called after him, “Hey, what’re you doing?”

Bucky paused, turning back to him with raised brows and a knowing smirk. “I’m makin’ some grilled cheese, that okay?”

Now he felt like an idiot. Steve had figured that Bucky was going to close himself up in his room like he’d been doing for the past three weeks.  “Uh, yeah.”

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender and both of them paused, looking at his metal hand. All of this was like the old days except for that arm. To Steve, it was the reminder that he’d been too afraid of heights to reach out that little bit further. He wasn’t sure what it meant to Bucky, but he lowered his hands pretty quickly after that, ducking away into the kitchen before Steve could apologize for looking.

By the time Bucky returned with the grilled cheese sandwiches, Steve’s stomach was threatening to eat itself. The smell was intoxicating enough, but seeing the gooey white cheese oozing out from between the bread slices had him practically drooling. Bucky handed over the warm plate and Steve immediately set it in his lap and lifted the sandwich to his mouth, letting out a loud hum of approval.

Chewing didn’t hurt unless he did it too hard, but the cheese did start to strain his jaw after a little while. Bucky lounged on the opposite side of the couch, making various sound effects as animals on the TV were hunted down or getting into fights.

“It’s okay to talk to me, ya know,” Bucky murmured after awhile as an alligator waded into a muddy river on the screen.

Steve swallowed the grilled cheese in his mouth and carefully turned his head to look at his friend. “What?”

Bucky shifted his jaw, tonguing the inside of his cheek for a moment. “It’s okay to talk to me about the Winter Soldier.”

Steve looked away, unable to meet Bucky’s eye. He’d been such a fool, oogling him like he hadn’t ever seen his metal arm before. They’d been living together for a month now. Okay, almost a month. “I don’t want to talk about him.” He didn’t, not really. He just wanted Bucky back permanently instead of trying to savor this time they had as friends again.

“Okay, then can we talk about something? I know I haven’t exactly been talking to you much.”

Steve remembered the barn, watching Bucky line up his shot with cold precision. He remembered Bucky leaving him alone in the warehouse, but he also remembered Bucky helping him up after they’d taken out a few mobsters. This Bucky wouldn’t last, he knew, but he wanted it to. He wanted his best friend right there next to him. Not Sam or Natasha or Tony or Bruce or anyone else. Only Bucky knew him completely. Only Bucky knew how things used to be.

“Do you like keeping your hair like that?” Steve asked, because he couldn’t find anything else to talk about.

Bucky chuckled, scrubbing the back of his head and leaning back on the couch more. “Yeah, it’s not so bad. I think it works.”

“Really,” Steve said with a cocked brow, not convinced.

“Okay, broads tell me it works,” Bucky snickered and Steve had to laugh at that. However, it caused a stabbing pain in his ribs, so he had to force himself to stop before he ruptured something.

“Hey, hey.” Bucky scooted over on the couch, reaching out a head to steady him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Steve said, lightly slapping Bucky’s hand awa—

Bucky caught his wrist, hard.

He was just glad it wasn’t with the metal arm. “Buck,” Steve soothed, staring at his now-wide-eyed best friend. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You okay?”

Finally it seemed to click. Bucky blinked hard before retracting his hand and cradling it in his metal one as if it had somehow been poisoned. “ ‘M fine,” he muttered. “ ‘M fine.”

He obviously wasn’t fine, but Steve had long since learned how to deal with Bucky trying to look unbothered. “Did they ever tell you how I still haven’t gotten myself a girl?”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face. “Nah, but I fuckin’ figured. You can’t even talk to an old woman without going beet red,” he laughed.

“Hey! They’re younger than us, first of all, and second, I’ve at least gone on a date in the last decade.”

Bucky popped up a brow, lips curled in that trademark smile of his. “You think I haven’t gone on a date since the forties?”

Now Steve was falling all over his words. “Well no, I just—I mean—When?”

Bucky flexed his metal hand, turning it as he played invisible keys with his fingers to watch the way the metal joints moved when he did it. “A couple a times. For missions and stuff, but all the girls were nice. “ He glanced over at him. “I bet I’m a better date than you are, Rogers.”

“Like that’s any contest,” Steve muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Do you even know what a hookup is?”

“Do you?” Steve asked, turning his head a little. That was one term he did know, thanks to Tony. At least, he was pretty sure he knew.

“Yeah I know what a hookup is,” Bucky said with a snort, as if you’d be a fool not to know. “I didn’t just miss out on the past seventy years like you. The last date I went on was with a Russian model. Gorgeous, Steve. Just gorgeous.” He let out a wistful sigh and closed his eyes.

“Did you have a hookup with her?” Steve asked, smirking.

There was that sly grin that Steve hadn’t realized he’d been missing. “Of course. Wanna hear about it?”

Steve put his good hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. “I’m not sixteen anymore.”

Bucky threw up his hands like he’d only just now discovered that. “Jesus, Steve! At least do a better job of pretending you don’t want to know!” He dropped back onto the couch, his head by Steve’s lap. Bucky had a habit of sprawling out at all angles like that.

After a long sigh, Bucky looked up at him with a goofy grin. “Ya shoulda seen her, Steve. Perfect lips, long blonde hair, legs that went for miles. They were even better when they were open.”

“Bucky!” Steve scolded, but refrained from cuffing him on the head. They’d just proved that touching still wasn’t okay right now.

“No, listen! I had this place in the woods, ya know? Took her back there and I barely even walked through the door and she’s on me like one a those lionesses on the TV. She pulled her gloves off with her teeth—God, Steve, it was _something_. Then, she pulls me up the stairs and things really started heating up…”

 

 

Steve listened to the entire escapade like he always had when Bucky started talking about the women he had been with. Given that Steve still had very little experiences with such things, he couldn’t help but try to remember some of it for sometime in the future. Everything he’d ever done with a woman had come from something he’d heard in one of Bucky’s numerous stories, though Steve was about a hundred times less raunchy about it. Bucky liked to exaggerate, Steve knew—he’d been only just in the bedroom of their little flat while Bucky “visited” Dorothy Shaw in the living room. He wasn’t as dirty as he claimed he was. And whatever he did, it worked. Bucky always had women coming around for him. They were almost always disappointed to see Steve standing there instead, forcing them looking down at him because he was so short.

Bucky and Steve both fell asleep shortly after that, and Steve was out like a light. He slept for a lot longer than usual because when he woke up it was light outside instead of the pre-dawn darkness he was so use to waking in.

“Hey.”

The rough voice punctured the stillness and Steve flinched, making a choked noise when pain cracked through his chest. God, he was sore all over.  He opened one eye to see Bucky right up in his face in a way that was uncomfortable and predatory. That meant only one thing.

With a long sigh, Steve tried to smile as the Winter Soldier analyzed him, all of the brightness in Bucky’s eyes now gone, replaced with the pale blankness that made him look like a walking corpse.

“I made you some breakfast,” Bucky said gruffly, leaning back to shove a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruity yogurt in his face.

Well, it was something. “Thanks,” Steve croaked, taking the plate with his one good hand and spearing some eggs. “And welcome back.”

Bucky set his jaw, but didn’t say anything for awhile until the TV was on, showing Sunrise Earth, one of Steve’s post-morning-workout favorites. Sam even liked it, and that was saying something. 

“I was told to ask how you were feeling,” Bucky said flatly, staring intently at the TV from where he stood behind the couch.

Steve swallowed some eggs and fought the urge to shrug. “It hurts. Mostly just sore, though. I’m pretty sure I can feel everywhere that they were digging around for that slug too.” Painkillers weren’t an option though—SHIELD had only just figured out how to sedate him and he counted his lucky stars for that. Being awake for surgery was a terrifying thought.

“Hm,” was Bucky’s unsympathetic response, though it was infinitely more sympathetic than he’d been acting previously, aside from a few times when he was pretty sure that was just the real Bucky fighting through.

“Did it hurt when you got your arm?” Steve asked after a moment, glancing at the metal of Bucky’s shoulder.

The Winter Soldier smirked. “Yes. I still had my arm when I was found—that was the only reason they bothered to stick this one on at all. If I would have lost it I would have been useless when they brought me to shore.”

Steve had stopped breathing, listening intently now. He hadn’t felt comfortable asking the real Bucky about it, but now…

“Most of my ligaments were still attached, and all of my tendons were present,” Bucky continued with that edge of Russian in his voice that gave away his state of mind. “I don’t know specifics, but they were essentially able to recreate the severed arm with metal and wires and whatever else.” He slung it over the couch so Steve could get a look, and look he did.

Up close it was so…smooth. It moved like a real arm, only missing the raised veins and skin and all that. Bucky turned his forearm over and the arm moved with a sense of grace that Steve had never really noticed before. It reminded him of Tony’s armor. Oddly enough, The Winter Soldier seemed amused that he was staring at it like he was, whereas Bucky had been ashamed.

“Can you feel anything with it?” Steve asked, watching as Bucky’s fingers curled into a fist and them spread out again.

“If I want to I can feel a little bit, yeah. Or I turn it off.”

Steve tossed him a look, trying not to shift his neck to do so. “You can turn it off?”

“Oh yeah, there’s just a little switch on my bicep,” he said with a shrug, turning his arm so that Steve could look.  He didn’t see any switch. Just smooth ridges of metal, lines every half inch or so with grooves that allowed movement. There were no bumps, nothing to indicate anything remotely like a switch

After a moment, he scowled. “You’re lying.”

The Winter Soldier laughed in a pitch a little more throaty than Bucky’s. Deeper. “Yeah, I’m lying.”

Bucky pulled his arm back, leaving Steve to fume in his embarrassment for falling for a dumb trick like that. “But I can turn it off. It feels kind of like shutting your eyes, but it’s your arm. Everything is dull and you feel like someone could blindside you out of nowhere.”

Bucky walked around from behind the couch and headed back toward his room unceremoniously. That was also frustrating to Steve—he didn’t want to be siting around by himself all day.

“Bucky,” he called. It took the other man a few more steps to realize that was his name. Steve waited until he turned around to speak again, “Thanks for helping me get up the stairs yesterday.”

The Winter Soldier’s lips twisted into a half smile. “He thought you were moving slow as hell.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t get offended, not really. He’d read as much on Bucky’s face. Besides, he didn’t feel like Bucky was actually trying to insult him right now.

The Winter Soldier tapped his metal hand on the wall with the side of his fist as he turned. “Let me know when you want lunch. Try not to have an asthma attack.”

Steve sighed and turned his attention back to the TV and his breakfast once he heard the door to Bucky’s bedroom shut. When Bucky had come to be able to cook anything other than toast, he didn’t know, but it was damn good. Being wrapped up in a blanket on the couch with nothing to do wasn’t half bad either; he just wished that he didn’t have to worry about what was going on in Bucky’s head right now. Bruce said he’d made major progress, but they still had to be careful not to oversaturate him. Steve hoped that his getting hurt wouldn’t lead to that, but there was always a possibility—especially because he knew Bucky was probably in an all-out fight with the Winter Soldier in that head of his.

As he scooped up some more eggs and watched the sun break the horizon on a farm in Switzerland on TV, he heard a thump from Bucky’s room that usually signaled he was lying down in bed.

The stillness in the flat didn’t seem all that lonely anymore, just subdued, like when Steve had somehow been assigned to take Tony’s place to visit a daycare center in the Bronx and all of the kids had been fast asleep on little mats on the floor, napping contentedly.  They hadn’t even noticed his arrival until their wake-up alarm went off. That was what it felt like now. They were just waiting on an alarm that wouldn’t come for at least a week.

Steve settled into the couch, cringing when his collarbone stung because he’d subconsciously moved his shoulder. Maybe when he felt better he’d be able to convince Bucky to go to the dock with him and actually sit down instead of walking up and down the length of it until Bucky started getting uneasy because they were out in the open.

Yeah, they could try that. Little steps, just like Natasha had said. Little steps.


	6. Chapter 6

The next two days were mentally exhausting for Steve. Bucky’s brain couldn’t seem to decide who it wanted to be. Breakfasts were spent with the Winter Soldier, dinner with Bucky and various switches in between. It didn’t help that Bucky was sleeping a lot, just little catnaps that seemed to be the cause of the switches. Steve worried, but it didn’t seem like anything was happening other than the personality changes. Bucky remembered everything that had happened in the hours he was not himself, and vice versa.

It was just a little difficult to have Bucky helping him one minute and then teasing him for being weak (not in Bucky’s usual teasing way) the next. But Steve healed quickly on a diet of grilled cheese and toast with jam from Bucky and lattes with omelets, fruit juice, and even a quinoa salad from the Winter Soldier. The nature channel had a marathon about grizzly bears that Steve watched for six hours one day, uncomfortable and testy thanks to he steady ache in his collarbone as it patched up the last of the injuries.  His skin had healed nicely , but he had pink, stretched skin over the bullet holes that clearly marked where he had been shot. They were fading though, and a check-in with Bruce confirmed that they would indeed go away in a week or two.

By the fourth day of Steve’s involuntary confinement, he was about ready to explode. Four days without training had his body on overdrive, craving anything that wasn’t indoors. Laziness was not in his nature now, and he was itching to get out of the flat, but he wasn’t allowed to go on runs or do any sort of extraneous activity until he felt no discomfort or pain anywhere where he’d been shot.

It was an overcast day with a strong breeze, but Steve wanted out of the house. Bucky had broken off his cast the day before with his metal arm, though he’d asked about a million times afterward if Steve was hurt. It _had_ hurt, but nothing had broken, so Steve pretended it was fine. His wrist was sore for a few hours where Bucky had cracked his forearm down on it, but otherwise he was fine.

“I can see why you aren’t a spy,” Bucky (not the real Bucky) muttered, glancing up from the newspaper he had sprawled out on the table.

Steve looked up from his coffee, realizing he was tapping his foot insistently on the wood floor. He stopped his tapping and took another bite of his oatmeal, watching the dappled greens of the leaves as they turned up toward the sky. Rain was coming, but the forecast said later in the afternoon. They still had time before the rain. Rain wouldn’t even matter anyway—Steve didn’t mind the rain.

Bucky let out an annoyed huff, looking up from his newspaper again to give Steve a look. “Want to go to the dock?” He asked very reluctantly, obviously not interested in going to the dock at all.

“Yes,” Steve said quickly, before Bucky could change his mind. “I’ll get my jacket.” He rushed into his bedroom, grabbing his black fleece. It wasn’t too cold out, but sitting on the dock wouldn’t be all that pleasant in short sleeves.

Bucky murmured to himself in Russian, clearly regretting his decision to suggest it, but when Steve had slipped on his jacket without managing to upset his collarbone, Bucky was wearing a well-fitting leather jacket that had a very Natasha look to it. So Natasha had picked his wardrobe then. 

“Nice jacke—“

“Shut up,” Bucky cut. “Let’s go.”

Bucky made sure to lock up once they left, then promptly returned to scowling and jammed his hands in his pockets. Steve was practically skipping down the hall and down the stairs, eager to get outside into fresh summer air and out of the apartment complex.

When Steve finally got outside, he relaxed a little. The wind was strong, but not too fierce that the dock wouldn’t be pleasant. Dark clouds were gathering on the lake near the horizon, but all he needed was a few hours out of the flat or else he might be the one going insane.

“Quit smiling like that,” Bucky said as he sidestepped a little girl who had noticed his metal hand before he could slip it back in his pocket again after opening the door. The little girl pointed at him and whispered something to her even littler brother before scampering off when their mother called from down the sidewalk.

“No thanks,” Steve replied, closing his eyes for a moment just to experience all of the sounds and smells. He hated being inside. “Unlike you, I prefer not to look like I’m going to strangle someone any second.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Bucky growled, knocking him in the good shoulder as he passed to head toward the dock. “I didn’t finish my coffee, so I’m not happy.”

“You could have brought it with you,” Steve said.

“Don’t want to carry a mug around.”

“You can’t even feel the effects of caffeine anyway.”

“Doesn’t make me any happier that there’s going to be a mug of cold coffee when I come back.”

Steve rolled his eyes as they crossed the street, ignoring the instinct to look both ways. No cars ever drove around, just bikes and golf carts. Everyone in town would hear a car before they got hit—they were just that uncommon.

“Would you rather have me tell you the feeding habits of a Kodiak bear? They aren’t grizzly bears, you know,” Steve said, turning to walk backwards as he spoke. It was just his natural reaction to try and lift Bucky out of a mood, no matter how impossible it was with the Winter Soldier side of him. “They’re a subspecies of brown bear, which leaves them susceptible to—“

“All right, all right,” Bucky said, waving him off. “Maybe we needed out of the house.”

Steve smirked, turning back around to look at the lake on the horizon, marred with white-tipped waves. Boats were heading in to shore, but Steve couldn’t wait to meet the storm head on at the end of the dock. His heart rate was already climbing just from that sheer feeling of power that came from storms. No wonder Thor was so fond of his powers.

 

 

When they reached the dock it was empty except for a few grizzly fishermen who were scowling at the choppy water as if that might calm it somehow. Waves flung themselves against the dock, throwing up frothy spray that soaked the benches on the right side. While Steve wouldn’t have minded that, Bucky would, so they gravitated toward the left. Bucky scoured the bell tower they had just walked under, no doubt looking for a sniper hiding away in one of the windows. Bucky was not a fan of the dock, but Steve found it to be just as much of a remedy as Mary had first told him it would be.

“You wouldn’t believe what this feels like after being cooped up in there all day,” Steve said with a sigh.

“I would rather be inside than out here. The weather is horrible,” Bucky muttered, as if Steve couldn’t tell.

“It’s not going to storm for another half hour, I bet. It’s just windy. Wanna sit down?” Steve moved toward the bench, but Bucky sat down at the edge, dangling his feet over the side. The left side of the dock was calm, protected from the choppy waves, so Bucky’s shoes were safe from harm for now. Steve decided to follow suit and sit next to his old friend, though he kept one leg pulled up to his chest solely to rest his chin on his knee. He made sure to use his good side though, so there was only a tingle of pain in his collarbone.

“You’d never think you use your collarbone as much as you do,” Steve said after a long silence had passed between them.

Bucky was staring down into the windswept ripples of the lake, his expression unchanging even as he grunted to let Steve know that he was indeed listening.

“I can’t even put a shirt on with this thing. It took me twenty minutes this morning. I felt like a little kid again.” Not that the Winter Soldier would remember the days where Steve had run around in just a pair of rolled up pants, tagging along after the other boys as they sought out fire hydrants and hoses and shade trees.

“Have you ever tried eating with just your left arm? It’s—“ Steve froze, realizing that Bucky had indeed eaten with just one arm. Bucky had done everything with only one real arm and another one that couldn’t feel the same way –and he was willing to bet that it had taken Bucky quite awhile to learn how to use his left arm at all. “Uh, I didn’t mean—“

“Collin,” Bucky said decidedly, cutting him off.

“What?”

“The agent who shot you. His name was Collin.”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. “What about him?”

“What’s his last name?”

Steve was about to answer, but stopped himself. This was the Winter Soldier side of Bucky that he was talking to, which was not the side he could predict or understand a motive. “Why do you want to know?”

Bucky looked at him then, but his eyes weren’t shrouded with the usual distaste or distrust, even. “I’m going to kill him.”

Steve’s words dried up on his tongue before he could say them, leaving him to stare open-mouthed at Bucky who was returning his gaze without so much as a hint that he might be lying. “You’re _what_?”

Bucky’s eyes never left his. “Collin shot you three times while you were trying to help him. I am going to kill him for that.”

Steve shook his head. “Bucky, no. You can’t just go and kill him. First of all, we don’t know the full story. He might have been under supervision that we weren’t aware of. Until we know everything, we can’t kill him. Even if we do figure out everything, you can’t just kill someone like that.”

“Yes you can,” Bucky said simply, his blue eyes hollow.

“Well you’re not going to,” Steve snapped. “You aren’t going to do that anymore.” Bucky was recovering; he wasn’t going to be going back to a coldblooded killer who killed on command. He was better than that now—he was coming back to himself.

“What is his last name?” Bucky asked, his accent growing thicker, “What is it?”

“I’m not giving it to you,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “I won’t let you kill him.”

“I promise to investigate.”

“I highly doubt that investigation would be very thorough,” he growled as the wind whipped across his face.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, he just stared at Steve so long that Steve had to finally turn to look at him again, though he was still furious that Bucky’s first thought had been to kill Collin. Collin was practically still a kid, one of those guys who followed orders blindly with fear in his eyes. A very smart kid, but still a kid. The best soldiers were like him, but the best soldiers didn’t always do the right thing. They did was told, nothing else.

“I’m the only one who gets to try to kill you,” Bucky said quietly.

Out of context, it didn’t sound like a friendly thing to say, but it was about the gentlest words that had ever left the Winter Soldier’s lips in Steve’s presence. Bucky looked away pretty quickly, which said he had really meant it as a guised affectionate gesture.

Steve just couldn’t quite believe it.  “Don’t go after Collin, okay? I don’t care if you start an investigation, but no killing. Hear me?”

Bucky tongued the inside of his cheek with a scowl. “If I see him again and he has a gun, I’m killing him.”

“Bucky—“

“If he has a gun and points it at you, I’m killing him,” Bucky sad flatly. It almost reminded Steve of when Bucky had yelled at him for taking on a group of boys who had thought it was fun to beat on a stray dog.

“Fair enough,” Steve finally said, turning his head to look back at the lake as another wave crashed into the side of the dock behind them. “But you better watch out, you’re staring to sound like yourself again.”

Had his collarbone not been healing, he was ninety-nine percent sure Bucky would have shoved him into the lake. Instead, he got a sharp glare and a flurry of Russian insults.

“Yeah, yeah, you speak Russian and Bucky doesn’t, I know,” Steve said with a sad chuckle.

“I said,” Bucky cut, “That you had better hope your friend doesn’t come back for a long time.”

“And why’s that?” Steve asked. “Why shouldn’t I want him back?”

“Because if you have him, you do not have me,” Bucky snarled. “Without me, he has everything.”

“I want him to have everything,” Steve replied. He hated these conversations, talking about Bucky like he was somewhere else or some other person.

“He will break apart in your hands,” Bucky hissed. That wild look was in his eyes again, made more intense by the way his long hair was blowing around in his face.

Steve paled. The Winter Soldier was a menace—a monster—the part of Bucky’s brain that killed mercilessly and without thought. The kind that strangled two children because they _might_ make noise and wake the real target. The Winter Soldier was every part of Bucky that was dangerous—all of it without Bucky’s level head to keep himself on track. The Winter Soldier was not a protector and certainly not a protector of Bucky.

“Then you don’t know Bucky Barnes,” Steve finally managed to spit out. “He’s the strongest person I have ever met and he trusts me a hell of a lot more than he trusts you. If I tell him he didn’t do any of that, he’ll believe me over you. He’ll know it was you and HYDRA that made him into a murderer.”

“You have a lot of faith in a man who was so easy to destroy.”

Steve had a hand fisted in Bucky’s collar before he could register what he was doing. They were lucky the dock was empty—not that Steve cared. At last he’d had the sense to grab Bucky with the arm that hadn’t been shot.  “Don’t ever talk about him like that again, you hear me?” He gave Bucky a shake, but Bucky just stared straight at him until Steve had to shove him away before he strangled his best friend.

“You should stop pressing,” Bucky finally said after Steve had turned away.

“I’m not pressing. I’ve lived a month without so much as a second with him. He was supposed to be halfway back by now.” That was what Bruce had said.

“He is not you. I am not you. I heal, but not as fast. I run, but not as far. You can be pushed and you will always push back. He will not. I _know_. I have seen.”

“You didn’t see,” Steve cut. “You experienced. You’re Bucky. And one thing Bucky always does is push back. Even if it’s five to one, he’ll come running.”

“For you,” Bucky said slowly. He scanned him like this was the first time they had ever seen each other. When they met eyes, Steve didn’t like the way his chest squeezed uncomfortably. It felt like he had asthma all over again.

“For anyone, not just me,” he finally growled out, then moved to stand. His collarbone pinched painfully enough that he had to stop trying for a moment, and when he looked up Bucky was standing there, his real arm extended. Steve reluctantly took it and got himself to his feet as a low rumble of thunder signaled that the rain was coming.

Steve strode quickly back toward town, not even looking back once to see if Bucky was following. Bucky wasn’t being pressed or prodded into recovery—they were taking their time bringing him back. Bruce knew a hell of a lot more about the brain than the Winter Soldier—Bruce was a doctor for crying out loud. Worse still, Steve hated that look he’d just gotten; like there was something he was supposed to know, but didn’t.

Next time, he wasn’t going to ask for company at the dock. Not unless it was the real Bucky tagging along.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s collarbone healed just fine within the next two days. The real Bucky didn’t return and Steve swore it was because the Winter Soldier was somehow blocking him. Thus, he didn’t talk to Bucky very much, still stewing over the comments he had made at the dock. Breakfasts were eaten in relative silence, and lunch only consisted of Bucky asking when SHIELD was going to send them on their next mission. Steve had no idea when that would be, but he guessed it would be sometime soon. He was surprised they had given him this much time to heal. Bruce must have really pushed for that.

That evening, Steve actually decided to watch TV on his own free will, flipping through the channels until he settled on a drama about a Russian submarine. He didn’t particularly register that the actors were speaking Russian, but Bucky stopped cleaning the spaghetti sauce from his metal hand to come into the living room and look at the TV.

There were subtitles so Steve could understand, but judging by the annoyed crease of Bucky’s brow, Bucky wasn’t pleased with it.

“They don’t sound Russian at all,” Bucky muttered. “Except for two of them. That one—“ he pointed a metal finger to a young Russian crewman, “—is German.”

“It’s just a movie,” Steve said, slouching even deeper into the couch.

“A bad movie,” Bucky growled under his breath before heading back into the kitchen. “I’ll be outside.”

Bucky spent a lot of time on the balcony now, staring out at the lake. He evidently liked to whittle now too; many mornings Steve had found wood shavings on the concrete floor of the balcony, but he never saw any of Bucky’s creations. It was quite the change from the man who went half insane every time it stormed because he couldn’t go outside and wreak havoc on Brooklyn.

 

After Steve could not longer bear to watch the submarine movie (he just didn’t appreciate the suspense aspect of it), he decided to just go to bed. He knew he would probably wake up in the middle of the night, but taking a midnight run through town wasn’t always a bad thing. It was nice to run when everything was dark and quiet. The only person who would probably be upset by it was Mack, the town security guard, but he knew Steve pretty well. Certainly enough not to be startled to find him running around the town at midnight.

He shuffled into his bedroom, rubbing his eyes and stripping out of his t-shirt. It didn’t hurt to lift his right arm now, so hopping around to take off his shoes wasn’t even a painful ordeal. He pulled out a tank top (he had been very upset when he found out that they were sometimes called wifebeaters and he would never ever call them that) and slipped it on, still self-conscious about sleeping without a shirt. The only times he ever did sleep shirtless were on the summer nights where breathing felt more like drowning. Back in the day his asthma sometimes felt nonexistent on humid days, other times it was worse than ever. Now it was always annoying.

Either way, he hated seeing his ribs when he lay down and he was still half afraid he would wake up one morning and find that he had deflated back to his old self during the night. Sweatpants though, were purely a choice of comfort. He _loved_ sweatpants and wished that they were acceptable to wear everywhere. Technically, they were, but Steve would feel far too silly if he stepped out of the house in them without the full intention of going on a run.

But sleeping in them was great. Steve slipped into the bed and snuggled up under the covers, smiling contentedly at just how comfortable it was to lie down in his bed. The darkening sky outside cast a blue-grey light into the room, but Steve could fall asleep in full daylight if he had to. He’d gone through Special Forces training and one of their exercises was to force himself to sleep.

As he curled up beneath the covers, he could hear the occasional _shhhikt_ of Bucky dragging a knife across wood. Steve had long since abandoned the fear of Bucky trying to kill him, though he couldn’t pin when exactly he’d come to know that.

Or when Bucky had gotten ahold of a sharp knife.

 

 

 

When he woke, it was dark. Steve blinked slowly, trying to get his bearings. Something was off, because he didn’t feel rested. His sleep cycle had been interrupted by something. Steve sat up, expecting it to be his phone that had woken him, but when he clicked the screen on, there were no missed calls or texts.

Well, that was weird.

He decided to get up and check the flat, because he never just woke up for no reason. That was when he heard a loud thump—and not the one that he usually heard whenever Bucky went to bed.

Steve grabbed his shield as quietly as he could before carefully padding into the hallway. Everything looked quiet; the moon shone brightly through the windows in the living room, casting oblong shadows across the wood floors as Steve kept his back to the wall and sidled toward the living room, trying not to breathe too loudly. He wasn’t sure how, but HYDRA could have tracked them here. Or maybe someone had just picked the worst apartment in the world to rob, though they were on the fourth floor, so it would have to be a very determined thief. Maybe someone in town had recognized them and word had gotten out.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he _felt_ the next thump.

Bucky’s room.

Steve ran to Bucky’s door and threw it open, fully ready to pulverize whoever was trying to hurt his best friend. Instead, he saw Bucky with a belt in his mouth that he was biting on hard enough that Steve could see the veins in his forehead. His body was tangled in sheets, but what caused Steve’s shock to deflate to pure sadness was when he saw the shine of tears on Bucky’s cheeks. Bucky Barnes never cried. The only time Steve had ever seen him come close to crying was right before he fell.

Steve flicked the light on and Bucky screamed, muffled by the belt in his mouth.

“Bucky! It’s me, it’s Steve,” Steve tried to soothe, dropping his shield and rushing to untangle his friend from the sheets. Bucky writhed furiously, whacking his head against the headboard, causing another one of the thumps. Steve got a kick to the gut, but he kept fighting to get Bucky’s arm free from where sheets had been looped around it.

“Stop squirming, would ya?” Steve huffed after getting an elbow to the sternum. In truth, he was terrified. He had never seen Bucky or the Winter Soldier like this, and it scared him to death. Talking like he wasn’t scared just seemed to be the easiest way to deal with it.

After a few minutes of half-fighting-half-untangling, Steve managed to get all of Bucky’s limbs free from the blankets. The moment Bucky sensed his freedom, he scrambled backward into the headboard, chest heaving and still biting down on the belt in his mouth.

It was exactly like Steve finding him on that table in the HYDRA compound. Except this time, he knew exactly what kind of mental torture Bucky had been experiencing.

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, suddenly feeling helpless. His chest was wrenched with the pain of seeing his best friend so traumatized. He wanted so badly to help, but had no idea how. “Bucky, I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re with me, remember?”

Bucky just kept panting harshly through flared nostrils, bloodshot eyes staring at him like he was going to get hit. Steve stared right back at him, eyes clouded with concern but also trying to be comforting.

It seemed to be working. After a few moments, Bucky’s breathing calmed and his face began to relax.

“There you go,” Steve soothed. Slowly, he extended his hand. Bucky watched it with uncertainty, but made no move to stop it as Steve gently gripped the belt. “Come on, Buck, let it go. You’re safe. Nobody’s hurting you.”

Reluctantly, Bucky opened his mouth and allowed Steve to pull the leather away that was now indented from where Bucky had bitten down as hard as he could. A trail of saliva followed until it broke and left a wet line on Bucky’s chin. Steve smiled patiently and lifted a corner of the sheets to gently wipe it off.

When it came close to Bucky’s mouth, Bucky parted his lips and bared his teeth a little, as if Steve was going to put the belt between his teeth. When Steve pulled his hand back, Bucky’s mouth shut. When he moved closer again, Bucky’s mouth opened again. He was like a horse trained to accept a bit. Steve paused, frowning.

“Oh, Bucky,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.” His eyes stung with unshed tears that he wouldn’t allow to fall because he had to be strong when Bucky couldn’t be. He had to be the one to lean on. He gently swabbed the saliva from Bucky’s chin, shushing him quietly when Bucky turned toward his hand as though Steve had just missed his mouth with whatever Bucky thought he was going to put in it. It made Steve sick to his stomach.

This was the first time that Steve couldn’t tell who he was dealing with. Perhaps that meant this was the part of Bucky that was the melded halves of new and old, the Bucky he might have been at the beginning of all of this. The anger and hatred was gone, but the wildness still remained. The fear and uncertainty was all Bucky, but he looked so lost.

“See? Nothing happened,” Steve soothed, trying his best to smile. He reached up to brush the hair away from Bucky’s face, his fingers grazing Bucky’s sweaty temple.

Then, nothing.

It took him a full minute of staring at the ceiling to process that he’d been punched. Then he felt the pounding in his skull, centering at his cheekbone. Steve groaned and rolled over…

And right off the futon.

“Jesus,” he slurred, slowly regaining his ability to move as he pushed himself up off of the floor. Bucky had punched him in the face with his metal arm. Either that, or Bucky’s punching ability with his real arm was better than Steve ever remembered it.

When he sat up, he saw Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, fisting the sheets with both hands and trembling violently. Steve’s heart leapt into his throat when he realized that this was the real Bucky. The one who was purely afraid. His blue eyes were still leaking tears, but now his bottom lip was quivering uncontrollably.

Steve was more prepared this time when he climbed back up onto the futon. He pulled Bucky into his arms, holding him tighter when Bucky screamed—a guttural sound of anguish that had Steve doing everything he could to keep from sobbing. HYDRA did this, HYDRA turned Bucky into this shattered, broken mess of a human being. Bucky writhed to try and attack him, but Steve just curled his fingers into Bucky’s shirt and held him tighter, adjusting his chin over the top of Bucky’s shoulder and trying to keep from touching the part where the metal met skin, though he doubted it would hurt Bucky at all.

With a wrenching sob, Bucky stopped struggling and relaxed in Steve’s arms. “I gotcha,” Steve murmured, just as Bucky had told him when he was shot. “I gotcha. You’re safe now.” He rubbed Bucky’s back comfortingly and let his friend readjust in his hold.

“They-They’re gonna g-get me,” Bucky hiccupped into Steve newly healed collarbone.

“No,” Steve said firmly. “Nobody’s gonna get you. You’re safe.”

“I can h-hear them,” Bucky sobbed, sounding more broken than Steve had ever remembered hearing him. “I’m s-scared. I’m scared.”

“Hey, I’m right here. I gotcha.” Steve hugged him closer, trying to let Bucky know he was safe. It was so strange to be the one comforting him instead of the other way around. Bucky was always so strong, unwavering even when they faced the most unbeatable of odds. Never once had Bucky backed down, even when Steve was sure he had to have been afraid.

The feeling of Bucky’s fingers curling against his shoulders just felt so right though—he hadn’t so much as shook hands with Bucky since they’d punched each other half to death in the helicarrier. It felt so nice that it almost felt new, though Steve and Bucky had embraced like this—okay, without the crying—many, many times before.

“Buck, I’m the strongest human being on this earth. Nobody is gonna get you unless they come through me first. You’re safe, understand?”

Bucky didn’t answer; he just started sobbing even harder into Steve’s shoulder. Steve decided that words weren’t going to be best here—they usually never were when it came to Bucky—so he continued to hold him, swaying just the tiniest bit from side to side.

It was strange to be able to reach his arms all around the other man—Steve was used to being swallowed up in Bucky’s chest with his cheek wedged up against Bucky’s sternum. Now they were pretty evenly sized when it came to hugs and Steve found it to be…strange. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite the same warmth as when Bucky could crush him in an embrace. It made him feel safe back then.

Body size aside, Bucky wasn’t too much different. His skin still smelled like a summer adventure and his breathing sounded the same, even though it was quick, harsh breaths that were coming out now. Steve leaned his head against the side of Bucky’s and closed his eyes, trying his best not to start crying himself. Bucky was still trembling so hard and was still so upset…but all Steve could think about was how the Winter Soldier was likely going to return and steal Bucky away again. He didn’t want that. More than ever, he didn’t want that. He would do this every night for Bucky if he needed to, if it just meant that the Winter Soldier would never return. He would chase away the fear, the nightmares; whatever had caused this. Steve would make all of it go away.

Eventually, Bucky stopped shaking. His breathing was still too shallow, but Steve was just glad he wasn’t sobbing anymore.  The room was quiet and dark around tem, but not in a way that would evoke any more fear. Bucky gradually went limp in Steve’s hold, finally falling asleep after many long moments where Steve was sure that Bucky was going to wake up again and freak out.

Once Bucky’s breathing had evened out more, Steve gently shifted him back onto the bed, stuffing pillows behind Bucky’s back to make sure he would wake up feeling safe and secure.

He decided it would be best not to have Bucky wake up in his arms. The Winter Soldier would probably kill him for it, and even if it was the real Bucky, he would probably be so embarrassed that Steve didn’t think it would be helpful.

So he tried his best to make sure that when Bucky did wake up, he was going to be comfortable. He pulled the blankets over Bucky’s curled form, tucking him in as best he could with the awkward angle. Taking some tissues from the far dresser, Steve carefully wiped the moisture from Bucky’s cheeks and eyes, which earned him a few murmured nothings and a gentle push from Bucky’s metal arm.

Once Bucky was tucked in, the corner of Steve’s lips twitched up in a smile at the sight of his best friend fast asleep. Bucky’s lips were slightly parted and his face was peaceful; the only evidence of his crying in his wetted eyelashes.

Steve wouldn’t go far, but he wasn’t going to stay in the bedroom and risk Bucky being embarrassed or angry when he woke. He didn’t want to leave, but in his gut he knew it was what he needed to do.

Carefully he reached out, grazing his thumb across the scuffed paint of the red star on Bucky’s metal arm. He doubted the other man felt it at all, which was why he chose that spot.

“Sleep good, ya nutball,” Steve whispered.

He waited until he got back to his room to wipe his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve didn’t end up going on his midnight run. He slept a few more hours actually—much longer than usual. When he did finally wake, it was to the shards of sunlight puncturing the blinds and turning his vision red behind his eyelids. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to wake up, but at least he felt rested.

He didn’t get out of bed right away either. The covers were warm and the bed was cozy, inviting him to shut his eyes for just a little longer and wake up later on. Of course, he never listened to that invitation, but it was nice to feel completely comfortable for just a few moments. Birds were chirping a pleasant melody outside and the rustling of the trees indicated that it was another day of balmy breezes off the lakeshore.

When he did finally get up, he changed into a real t-shirt, folding his tank top before placing it into his laundry hamper. Some army habits stuck with him even now. Unlike most vets however, Steve never got the chance to go home; he was brought from active duty straight into the 21st century. The only person on the planet who had similar experience was Bucky, but even he had adjusted better. Steve had seen him searching through the internet for information on SHIELD and HYDRA, and he knew how to text and write emails without asking for help. Steve had only just figured out that he didn’t need to keep an actual address book for email addresses.

Rubbing his eyes, Steve entered the kitchen and started to make breakfast. Fruit and oatmeal looked like a good choice for the day, along with a grapefruit and a piece of toast with jam. That would probably hold him over for a few hours, at least.

As he was pouring the milk into his oatmeal, he heard noises from Bucky’s room. Steve fought the urge to go and check on him and continued to make his breakfast, dimly wondering if Bucky even remembered the night before. Half of him still thought it was a nasty trick from the Winter Soldier, but after he’d been punched Steve knew that had been the real Bucky. If that made any sense.

There was a loud thud from the doorway to the kitchen that turned Steve from the microwave (the only invention he could actually call himself master of) to see Bucky grumbling to himself, rubbing his metal shoulder as though it were in pain from knocking into the entryway.

Bucky was not a morning person.

His dark hair was a complete mess and his stubble looked a few shades darker than the night before, if that was possible. In all honesty, Bucky looked terrible, but to Steve he just looked like any tired person might after a bad night.

“I put your coffee on already,” Steve said with a slight smile as Bucky started fumbling around with the container of coffee grounds.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, as though that was a suitable reply. He turned and dragged a chair away from the dining table before loudly dropping down into it.

When he started flipping through the newspaper, Steve had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. “I haven’t brought the paper in, though.”

That brought a Russian curse from Bucky, which alerted Steve to who he was talking with. He hadn’t really thought it was the real Bucky, but he had hoped.

The microwave started to hum behind Steve’s head as it cooked his oatmeal and he moved to the fridge to grab his grapefruit and the jam. Meanwhile, Bucky was just staring blankly at the table, undoubtedly waiting for the little ring from the coffeemaker that would signal that his (entirely unnecessary) coffee was finished.

“Have you ever been to Starbucks?” Steve asked once he had sliced his grapefruit in half.

“What?”

“Starbucks. It’s a really popular coffee shop. You’d probably like it.”

“I would really like some coffee,” Bucky slurred, turning around to look at the coffeemaker. “How long ago did you put it on?”

The microwave beeped and when Steve opened the door it smelled like it was going to be a delicious breakfast morning. Nothing could beat the way a warm bowl of oatmeal felt in his hands, probably because any warm food in general still seemed like such a rarity. “About five minutes ago,” he finally replied once he had the warm ceramic bowl in both palms. “It’ll be done soon.”

“Did something happen last night?”

Steve paused, setting down the bowl to look at his best friend. So Bucky hadn’t remembered. That was highly unusual and he wasn’t sure what it meant.

For whatever reason, he felt compelled to lie about it.

“I don’t know, I was asleep. Did something happen?”

Bucky rubbed his jaw, shaking his head. “I have a headache and my jaw hurts. Must have been a dream.”

“What must have been a dream?” Steve asked, taking the seat at the end of the table closest to Bucky.

Bucky flicked his wrist dismissively. “Nothing. You were just in my dream, nothing important.”

“Sometimes it means something when someone’s in your dream,” Steve said after a spoonful of oatmeal.

“I’m sure it does,” Bucky muttered, getting up from his seat as the coffeemaker started to beep. “But I haven’t remembered a dream in a very long time. That is what worries me.”

“Or it means you’re getting better,” Steve said.

Bucky didn’t say anything as he filled up his mug of coffee and sat back down, blue eyes searching him again with that same look that made Steve feel suddenly very ignorant.

“Even if your friend returns and even if you somehow lead him to believe he is innocent—“

“He _is_ innocent,” Steve said firmly, almost with a threatening edge to his voice.  

“—Even if you lead him to believe he is innocent, how do you expect him to act? Like the man you knew many years ago? He will not. He will be lost to this world, with no team to pull him from the ashes.”

Steve blinked, momentarily confused until he remembered that it was indeed the Avengers who had redefined his purpose here. He was no fool either—Bucky would not be asked to join the Avengers until he proved himself stable and secure. Even then, there was a big chance that SHIELD wasn’t going to allow it.

“We’ll work together, just the two of us. I don’t work with the Avengers all the time. The last and only battle we fought together was against the Chitauri.”

Bucky took a sip of his coffee, shaking his head slowly. “You call him your closest friend, yet you act as though he will not be upset that he will be second best.”

“He won’t be second best,” Steve snapped. “But he won’t be allowed on the Avengers for years, if at all. That isn’t my call, and Bucky will understand that.”

“He may understand, but it will not make him feel any better,” the Winter Soldier retorted.

Steve clenched his jaw, trying to refrain himself. The Winter Soldier didn’t know Bucky. Bucky never felt left out of anything because he always forced his way right into the spotlight. Not joining the Avengers wouldn’t cause him to be upset, especially when he was told that Steve didn’t get to make the decisions about the Avengers. With time, Bucky could be allowed on. It would just be a question of his mental integrity.

“Why are you so against this?” Steve asked suddenly, putting down his spoon. “Is it because when Bucky comes back, you’ll be gone?”

It had occurred to him that the Winter Soldier could just be doing all of this out of defense for his own life, if that made any sense. When the real Bucky returned, this side of him would be only memories.  It would never return.

The Winter Soldier‘s metal fingers tapped on the ceramic of his coffee mug as he stared Steve down. “You think this will end neatly. You think this will end as perfectly as everything else in your life. I am here to tell you—“

A low, muffled growl interrupted him and both Steve and Bucky looked around in momentary panic to find where the noise was coming from. A second later and Bucky was lifting his buzzing cell phone from one of his pockets.

“Da.”

Steve stood up and moved to Bucky’s side, trying to listen in. Not very many people had Bucky’s number and he was concerned about who would be calling.

It was Agent Hill.

“…not our highest priority, but having the dossier would make several of our current missions run much smoother. You’ll be flown to Florida later this afternoon and the party starts at eight. Your mission is to infiltrate the house and—well, wait a minute. Are you good with computers?”

“What is required of me?” Bucky asked with a sidelong glare at Steve as he tried leaning away.

“Ideally, we don’t want Hoffman to know we’ve got the dossier. We would like you to scan any documents you can, and upload them to a flash drive. Any electronic files need to be saved onto the flash drive as well. Can you do that?”

“I can infiltrate any American banking system in this country,” Bucky said. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Okay, good,” Agent Hill said. “So your mission is to retrieve the contents of the dossier, preferably electronically, but if that isn’t possible then you have the go ahead to take it with you. Now, can I speak to Steve?”

Bucky lifted the phone from his ear and Steve grabbed it away, a little bit annoyed that SHIELD thought it was a good idea to put Bucky in charge of something like this, especially without even telling him first.

“Agent Hill,” Steve greeted.

“Mr. Rogers,” she returned. “We’re sending you and Bucky into the field. There’s a party tonight—“

“In Florida, I know. I heard. We’re supposed to get a dossier.”

“Well, um, Bucky is.”

Steve cocked a brow. “Just Bucky? What, do you think I can’t use a flash drive?”

“No, Steve, it isn’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Banner said it would be better for Bucky to be in charge of this one. It’s a simple mission. You’ll be providing security and posing as a personal assistant to Bucky. Your job is to make sure he gets in and out of the party without problems. If something happens and he can’t retrieve the dossier, you need to go in. If it gets too hot, then you have to leave it. This isn’t a high priority mission, so it’s okay to fail if you have to get Bucky in a safe place.”

Steve didn’t like it, but if Bruce had suggested it and said it was best for Bucky, he wouldn’t argue. “Whose party is this, anyway?”

“His name is Jack Hoffman,” Agent Hill explained. “He runs a business that harvests virgin trees—trees that are essentially living underwater logs. They’re incredibly valuable and are only found in a few places throughout the globe. A paper-thin coating of virgin tree wood is hundreds of thousands of dollars. Hoffman made his fortune on virgin trees, but has since moved to several fraudulent business deals, scams, and even smuggling. We think that dossier has the link to who’s running all of this.”

“And what if it’s HYDRA?” Steve asked pointedly. “What if this party is crawling with HYDRA? One of them is bound to be high up enough to recognize Bucky. Then we’ve walked into a trap.”

“That why I’ve got Barton on perimeter detail and Falcon on standby.”

“His name is Sam,” Steve muttered.

“He’s requested to be called Falcon,” Agent Hill replied with a sigh.

Steve’s lip twitched into a slight smile. “Of course he did.”

“Anyway, your plane leaves in two hours. A SHIELD van has just been dispatched to pick you up.”

Steve nodded, even though he knew she wouldn’t be able to see that. “What’s the dress code?”

“We’ve got that covered. You’ll change on the plane.”

Steve gave a quick goodbye and hung up, then informed Bucky of what was going on. Steve was nervous about this mission, but he hoped that Bruce was right in that it would be a help to Bucky.

“So,” he said once he was finished explaining, “is this going to be okay? I can do it if you don’t feel up to it.”

Bucky let out a laugh before draining the rest of his coffee. “Not having you in charge will be a godsend. I can tell you one thing, _Assistant_ ,” he said, reaching out with his metal hand and tipping up Steve’s chin. “I hope you like to work.”

Steve set his jaw, but didn’t pull away even from Bucky’s attempt to humiliate him by holding him like he was inspecting a slave. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on the Winter Soldier’s.

Bucky was in there somewhere, closer to the surface than he was before. Soon enough, he would be back and Steve would be able to stop being tense every time they looked at each other.

For a fleeting second though, he wasn’t tense. The Winter Soldier wasn’t looking at him like he was going to try and kill him. Instead, he was just looking at him curiously, like he was a puzzle piece that didn’t belong in the box.

“What?” Steve asked, trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably. Bucky still had a hold on his chin.

Instead of replying, Bucky just let out a snort and dropped his hand away. “You ask too many questions. Makes you seem like you don’t know anything,” he said, standing up.

Steve cracked a smile and leaned back in his chair. “I guess that’s why you’re the boss and I’m the assistant.”

“Right,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes.

As he left, he kicked the leg of Steve’s chair and sent him crashing to the floor. The Winter Soldier turned in the doorway to make sure he wasn’t dead, then chuckled.

Steve was still trying to figure out what had just happened, rubbing the back of his head from where it had hit the refrigerator door. “What the hell was that for?”

“There you go again, asking too many questions,” Bucky said with a twisted smile. “Come on, Assistant, we had better get ready to leave.”

  

 

* * *

 

 

Tony had provided them another private jet for the trip, but Steve felt decidedly better about this one. As much as he pretended he didn’t, Steve knew the Winter Soldier pretty well now. Well, he knew enough about him to know what to avoid talking about so that he didn’t get choked again mid-flight.

Agent Hill met them on the tarmac and handed them both documents explaining the mission in greater detail and ushered them onto the plane. There wasn’t much time to spare, as they had a two and a half hour flight ahead of them, so Steve and Bucky boarded the plane without asking many questions. The mission wasn’t going to be difficult and even if they botched it, there wasn’t much to lose.

It was a practice run for Bucky, and Steve had to make sure he succeeded.

When they got on the plane, two suits were waiting for them. Bucky’s was black and sleek and fancy, and Steve’s was a smart dark gray with a white undershirt and a black tie. Not quite as nice-looking as Bucky’s, but he supposed that an assistant wouldn’t be wearing the nicest suit at the party.

They played cards for a while; passing the time by discussing the mission and looking over blueprints for the mansion they would be in all night.

“According to the source, the dossier is in this office,” Steve said, pointing to a room on the second floor next to the in-home library.

“The source could be wrong,” Bucky muttered, scanning over the blueprints again.

“The source can always be wrong, but you have to check there first. It would be stupid to go looking around the house when we’ve been told where the dossier is supposed to be.”

“Suppose it is not there, then where do we look?” Bucky asked. “I have a very small window of time to find this dossier and retrieve it.”

Steve sighed. “Okay then, where else should we look if we don’t find it in the office?”

A lot of their conversation went like that. Bucky wanted about five backup plans for every one of Steve’s. It was difficult to deal with, but Steve figured that Bucky was a master assassin, so maybe it wasn’t all bad that he was being utterly ridiculous about all of his planning.

One thing Steve also noticed was that the Winter Soldier seemed more comfortable about expressing things. Bucky hadn’t talked about how he was feeling or what he was thinking since they started this mission (aside from when he was actually Bucky) but on the plane he mentioned that he was uneasy about this room, wasn’t comfortable with the lack of escape routes in this one—stuff like that.

Steve was pretty sure it was just because the real Bucky would say those things, but he couldn’t deny the little pinch in his chest when he thought about the Winter Soldier part of him going away for good.

He tried to shake it by the time they had to get dressed, but it didn’t work that well.

Bucky insisted that he change in the bathroom, very different than what the real Bucky would ask. Bucky had a tendency to strip down at very inopportune times without asking first, which had led to more than one occasion of Steve walking a dame into Bucky’s flat (a dame there to meet Bucky, not him) to find his best friend stark naked. Somehow, Bucky was never that embarrassed by it. He would just wave and go in his room to change, leaving Steve and the girl red-faced in the living room.

Steve slipped into his slacks and undershirt before pulling on his jacket and tie. Putting on suits was easier for him than most men who looked his age—many of them had only worn a tie to highschool dances, where Steve had worn one almost every day since elementary school.

Steve turned when Bucky came out of the bathroom and for a moment he just stared.

Bucky had always been made up of lean muscle—he had a boxy torso with thinner, long legs to hold him up. Nowadays, Steve outweighed him and had a thicker build, but…SHIELD might have been on to something in making Bucky the star of the show tonight. His hair was pulled back into a tiny ponytail at the base of his neck, with a few strands sticking out here and there that framed his face very nicely. His stubble gave his jaw a good shadow that was reminiscent of the male models’ in the magazines on the racks by the bar (all of which had a picture of Tony on there somewhere as well), almost as if Bucky had somehow been planning this part all along.

But his eyes were the biggest contrast. For all of his darkened, handsome features, his eyes were two grey-blue ghosts that captivated even Steve’s attention, who had been looking at them since DC.

On top of all of that, the suit looked fantastic on him.

“Uh, that looks really nice on you,” Steve said with a nod.

Bucky gave a nonchalant shrug and straightened his tie. “I could say the same to you.”

Steve looked down at his outfit, but didn’t believe for a second that he would be giving Bucky any competition for tonight. Just like the old days. He cracked a sly grin as he looked back up to his best friend.

“Be careful where you look, Buck. The mission is to get the dossier, not all the women at the party.”

Bucky snorted, giving Steve a sidelong glance as he looked himself over in the mirror by the emergency exit door. “Trust me, that’s not what you should be worried about.”

Steve had moved to folding up his cuffs, but looked up to cock a brow at Bucky. “Yeah? And what should I be worried about then?”

Bucky laughed that deep laugh that wasn’t his. He didn’t answer.


	9. Chapter 9

“I need an honest opinion. Do I sound American enough?” Bucky asked as their limo pulled up to the Hoffman mansion. Steve was still very uncomfortable riding around in fancy cars, even his motorcycle made him feel guilty sometimes. So riding in a limousine made him acutely aware of how he was going to be in the spotlight the whole night. Or, Bucky’s spotlight. Like he used to be.

“Steve,” Bucky said, snapping him out of his thoughts on how every stitch of this leather interior was probably hand sewn.

“Yeah?”

“I asked you if I sound American enough,” Bucky said as he fiddled with his tie. He’d been doing it the entire ride, almost like he was nervous.

“You sound fine,” Steve assured him with a quick smile. “Nobody’s ever gonna suspect anything.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath in Russian and adjusted his tie again, searching the window to get a good look at the grounds. His mind was elsewhere though, Steve could see that. Both the Winter Soldier and Bucky had the same distracted face. Probably because the Winter Soldier had never been distracted before.

“We should go over our names again,” Steve offered to try and ease Bucky’s thoughts. “I’m Mark Fullmer, the assistant you just hired from New York. You?”

Bucky passed a hand over his face, glancing down at the leather glove covering his metal hand. “James Condon. I developed the design for the shell casings used in Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifles, and since then I’ve moved to New York and become something of a socialite. I’ve got an ego larger than my fortune and I like to get drunk on other peoples’ booze.”

“And what about your glove?” Steve asked, adjusting the thick-framed glasses he’d been told to wear for the party.

“Signature fashion statement. Part of my ‘brand’ I’m trying to create,” Bucky replied, flexing the leather around his fingers. Then he was looking out the window again, running his tongue along his bottom lip as the limo inched forward in line.

“Good,” Steve said with a smile before following Bucky’s gaze to see if he was looking at something particular. He wasn’t. “Are you nervous, Buck?”

“Don’t call me Buck,” Bucky grumbled. “And no, I’m not nervous.”

“You look like you’re nervous. You’ve been looking out the window since we got here.”

“I’m watching the perimeter,” Bucky replied.

“Clint and Sam are watching the perimeter. They’re the best eyes on the planet.”

“The best American eyes.”

Steve sighed. “Well, there’s nothing to worry about. Even if something goes terribly wrong, this mission isn’t that important. As long as you don’t kill everyone at the party, we’ll be in good shape.”

Bucky let out a snort, but didn’t say anything.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Any number of things could go wrong in there. Someone could recognize me, recognize you, or something could happen. I don’t like this, even if it is just a small mission. I don’t like it.”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but the limo door opened, signaling the end of their conversation and the start of their new identities. Bucky put on one hell of a smile for a guy who didn’t want to be there and got out of the car to a crowd of rich-looking people eyeing the new face. Steve crawled out behind him, adjusting his glasses again to keep them from slipping down his nose. Of all of the problems he’d had when he was smaller, eyesight had never been one of them. Even if he would have had a pair of glasses, they probably would have been broken a hundred times from all the scuffles he’d gotten himself into.

Of course, it only took about two seconds for two lavishly dressed women to approach them. Their teeth were uncomfortably white and their lipstick outrageously red, making their allured expressions all the more strange as they both approached Bucky. Without even having to say anything, they seemed to know that Steve wasn’t the important person here.

“Want a drink?” the blonde woman asked, extending a champagne flute. The brunette gave Steve a passing glance, but then her eyes were on Bucky again.

“I’d love a drink,” Bucky replied with a devastating grin that had always melted women into puddles at his feet back in the day. It seemed that Bucky’s natural charm was good enough for HYDRA to keep around. He took the champagne and smiled around the flute as he sipped from it, eyes on the woman who had handed it to him.

“I’m Stephanie Dvorak,” the blonde woman said.

“And I’m Laura Karse,” the brunette chimed in.

Bucky took another sip of champagne. “I’m James Condon and this is my assistant, Mark Fullmer.”

“Hello,” Steve said with a nod to both women.

“We’re from New York, so I’m afraid we aren’t quite used to this ridiculous humidity,” Bucky continued with a laugh. “I feel like I’m supposed to be swimming.”

Stephanie and Laura laughed, then simultaneously took swallows of their drinks in a way that Steve had learned meant that they were very interested in Bucky.

“So how do you know the Hoffmans?” Stephanie asked. “Being all the way from New York and all of that.”

Bucky laughed and Steve found himself getting jealous of the fact that these two women had managed to make him laugh more in two minutes than he’d been able to in almost two months.

“I’ve never actually met him personally. Most of our business together was through our ‘people’, so to speak. Then I was invited to this beautiful little gathering and I had to come down to visit to say hello.”

As Bucky continued to talk to the girls, Steve scanned the party for Jack Hoffman. They only had one picture to go off of, but his rather off hairstyle coupled with the fact that his hair was greying meant that Hoffman would stick out in this crowd of mostly young people (particularly young women).

“Hey, uh, James.” It was so strange to call him James. “Want me to get you something to eat or something?”

“Huh?” Bucky said, the remnants of his smile from his conversation with the ladies still on his face. Another one had joined.  “Oh, uh, yeah. Get me some dessert. Something with chocolate.”

“Uh, sure thing,” Steve said with a nod. He couldn’t tell if Bucky was a really good actor or if he was just genuinely interested in talking to women more than trying to find Hoffman. He shot Bucky a glance, but wasn’t sure if it was received before he was heading for the buffet table stacked high with cheesecake, chocolate covered fruits, and even a chocolate fountain.

Steve grabbed a plate and started searching for chocolate, trying his best to look like a good assistant and not eat anything. At least, that’s what he thought a good assistant would do.

As he dipped a marshmallow into the chocolate fountain, someone else joined him at the dessert table, scooping up a slice of cheesecake. Steve’s heart started going when he caught sight of wrinkled hands, then followed the suit sleeve up to the face of Jack Hoffman.

He was a rather grumpy looking fellow, with a scowl fighting at the corners of his mouth even as he looked like he was trying his best to be a good host. He had a big, curved nose and salt and pepper hair with dark, unkempt eyebrows that made him look like a ridiculous movie villain.

Steve collected his marshmallow and added a chocolate covered strawberry to Bucky’s plate before turning back to Hoffman. The older man gave him an annoyed glance, causing the introduction on Steve’s tongue to dry up.

It probably wasn’t worth it to introduce himself anyway. It would just give him a face to remember.

Steve wove his way back through the crowd to find Bucky surrounded by five women now, all of which were intently listening to a story about an expedition to Turkey. Only Bucky could demand that kind of infatuation without even trying.

“James,” Steve said. “Here’s your chocolate.”

“Ah, perfect,” Bucky said with a smile. “Say, was there any cheesecake over there?”

Steve was about to answer when he caught Bucky looking at him for just a tad too long. A code word! So Bucky was on his toes after all. Steve couldn’t help but grin about that—he had been pretty sure he was going to have to get the dossier himself.

“Yeah. I can’t say it looked any good though. Want me to get you some?”

Bucky pretended to think about it for a moment, then shrugged. “You know what, I think I’ll go have a look. I need to say hi to some people anyway.” He turned back to the women, who all looked like they were waiting to be proposed to. “Ladies, you’ll have to excuse me for a little while.”

Bucky gave Steve a good-natured pat on the shoulder and gestured toward the dessert table before taking a bite of his chocolate-covered strawberry. Once they were out of earshot, Bucky dropped the happy façade.

“Was he drinking?” Bucky asked, keeping an eye on those around them.

“No. Not that I could see anyway. He was just grabbing some cheesecake. He didn’t look too happy though.”

Bucky nodded once, then glanced at one of the staircases leading to the second floor. “We should get that dossier sooner rather than later. I can grab it, you take it out to Sam or Clint, and we return to the party. Hoffman won’t expect us to stick around if we’ve stolen the dossier, so we won’t be suspected.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not worth the risk. If we take the dossier and go, it doesn’t really matter if he figures out if it was us or not. Take it whenever you want, but I think we should leave afterward.”

Instead of heading to the dessert table, Bucky went to the bar. Steve drank alcohol, but he really only liked the drinks that tasted good, which just so happened to be “girl drinks” as Tony called them. He didn’t understand why such a thing existed. It was almost as if to be a real man, one had to deny himself good taste. That seemed stupid to Steve.

Bucky returned with two shots in each hand, offering two to Steve.

“Do you get drunk?” Steve asked, grabbing his shots.

“Depends,” Bucky replied before downing one of the shots. “If I drink enough good liquor, I can get drunk. I’m guessing you can’t?”

Steve shook his head, following Bucky’s lead and drinking down one of his. He was pretty sure it was tequila, but it all kind of tasted the same to him after awhile. Tony was good enough at drinking (though Steve thought he shouldn’t be) to tell a drink down to the brand, sometimes even the year if he was drinking wine.

“Hey, James.”

Both Steve and Bucky turned to see Stephanie coming over to them, her glass of champagne replaced by a glass of red wine. Steve couldn’t tell if she was tipsy or just pretending to be to excuse her flopping onto Bucky’s arm, snaking her hand up to his chest. Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably, tossing Bucky a look.

Bucky, however, had melted right back into his charmer self, looking down at her with a soft little smile that just made Steve angry. Angry because he was tricking this woman, of course.

“Well hello there,” Bucky chuckled, looping his arm around her waist. “What’s up?”

Stephanie gave Steve a glance, one he had seen a hundred thousand times. The look of a woman who wished he wasn’t there, so she could have Bucky all to herself. The down-up sweep that was as judgmental as it was warning him to stay away. He hated that look.

She leaned up to whisper something in Bucky’s ear, and the sly smile that formed on his lips let Steve know exactly what she was asking about.

“I’d love to, but I have to talk to some people first. I’ll let you know when I’m done,” Bucky said, giving her a rub on the small of her back.

“Well, how am I supposed to know?” Stephanie asked, tugging at Bucky’s tie in a way that made Steve want to strangle her with it.

God, what was he thinking? That was a horrible thing to think!

“Trust me, you’ll know. I’ll make sure to give you a signal, hm?”

“Fine, but don’t keep me waiting too long. I hate waiting,” Stephanie purred as Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, Bucky was a charming guy, but she’d only known him for twenty minutes! Okay, Tony had gone off with women after twenty seconds, but that was Tony.

“I won’t, if I can help it,” Bucky murmured. Their lips met and a sharp prick of alarm caused Steve to jerk a little as he quickly looked away, cheeks flushing against his will. Nothing in the world was more awkward to him than being present while Bucky was spending intimate time with a girl.

The sound of their kiss breaking apart made Steve’s heartbeat flutter with embarrassment for having been present, so he hurriedly downed his second shot and stared down a bottle of whiskey behind the bartender.

A moment later and Bucky was waving his gloved hand in front of Steve’s face. “Hey, are you listening?”

“Huh—what?” Steve scrambled to turn his attention back to Bucky, who had evidently said something.

“I was saying we should put our earpieces in.”

“Oh, right.” He fished around his pocket and pulled out the tiny earbud that would connect him with Clint and Sam. Once it was in, he flicked it on with his fingernail.

“—skips.”

“You kiddin’ me? That was four!” Sam.  So the other voice must have been Clint.

“It was not four. You can hear the ‘plunks’. It was three skips.”

“It was four. This damn fountain ain’t wide enough for any more than four and I got four.”

“Uh, guys?” Steve whispered, holding the top button of his suit that turned on his microphone. “Clint? Sam?”

“Steve!” Clint greeted. “What’s up? Haven’t talked to you in forever.”

“What were you guys doing?” Steve asked as he watched Bucky get his earbud in.

“Nothing.”

“Nothin’ my ass,” Sam cut in. “We were having a rock skippin’ contest. Only reason Hawkface said nothin’ is because I just beat his ass.”

“Sounds like you’re both keeping a sharp eye on the perimeter,” Bucky said into the mic.

“If it isn’t Luke Skywalker himself. How the arm holding up, buddy? Are you joining the dark side or sticking with us?” Clint asked with a laugh.

“Guys,” Steve warned. “Cool it. We’re going to head upstairs to get what we came here for.”

“You sure that’s what you came here for? Bullwinkle over there looks like he came for some tail,” Sam said with a snicker.

“I’m serious,” Steve said. “We’re turning off our mics now, so get into a position where you can keep an eye on things, okay?”

“Sure thing, Cap,” Sam said.

“Going dark,” Bucky murmured, releasing his finger from the button on his suit.

“Going dark,” Steve repeated, letting go of his mic button too.

“Clint, you take position two, I’ll take three,” Sam said.

“Got it.”

The air went quiet after that and Bucky got himself another shot. Steve stole the last of Bucky’s chocolate covered strawberries from his plate and they talked to the bartender and a few of the men around them until Sam and Clint let them know that they were in position.

“You head up first,” Bucky said. “Set a sensor at the top of the stairs, past the first bedroom door, and one a few feet from the office door. Okay?”

Steve nodded and slipped back into the crowd. He had memorized the blueprints of the house before arriving, as had Bucky, so finding the staircase was no problem. However, there were no guests on the stairs, so Steve snuck up as quickly as he could.

Once he made it into the hallway, he pulled out one of the tiny motion sensors they had brought to make sure nobody was going to walk in while Bucky was stealing the dossier. They were the size of a thumbtack and nearly impossible to see unless looking for one. Even then it would be difficult.

He placed all three sensors where Bucky had told him to, then stood in the hall and took out his phone to pretend to text in case someone came up the stairs. With a pinch to his suit button, he announced he was ready: “Sensors in place.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replied quickly. “Heading up now.”

“Hold on a sec,” Sam said over the radio. “Any of you got eyes on Hoffman? I can’t see him.”

“I’ll look. Stay where you are Steve,” Bucky murmured.

Steve held his breath as the seconds ticked by. Hoffman could have seen him come up the stairs, or maybe he’d seen Bucky trying to make his way up.  They were separated now, so anything that happened to Bucky wouldn’t be on Steve’s radar until too late, depending on what Hoffman would do.

“He’s by the stuffed lion,” Bucky finally said.

A few seconds later, Sam came back on the radio. “Perfect, got him in my sight. Thanks.”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when his watch flashed, indicating that someone had tripped the first sensor. He tensed, ready to defend himself should Hoffman come up the stairs, but it was just Bucky.

“Come on, I need you in here to watch my back.”

Bucky strode by and Steve followed, pocketing his phone and glancing over his shoulder once before slipping into the office room.

It was gorgeously decorated, with a huge oak desk and massive windows that let in a lot of moonlight. Rich, wooden bookshelves towered beside the windows, full of books, awards, and various busts of scholars and scientists that Steve didn’t recognize.

Bucky rounded the desk to where their source had told them was the safe,  disguised as the second desk drawer on the right. Steve could only assume by the lack of cursing that there really was a safe, so he stood watching the door while Bucky punched in the code.

“I have the dossier,” Bucky announced over the radio. Steve watched as he turned on the computer, hacking into it with ease. He briefly wondered if the real Bucky would remember how to do something like that. Once on the computer, Bucky plugged in the flash drive and shoved the stack of dossier papers into the copier beside the desk. With a few clicks and beeps, the copier was sucking in the documents and scanning them before tossing them back out the other end.

Steve wouldn’t have even been on the computer yet, let alone working the copier. SHIELD had definitely made the right choice on this one. The Winter Soldier was successful for a reason, that much was clear.

A few moments later and the pages were copied. Bucky gathered all of the them and stuffed them back into the dossier and returned it to the safe. “Dossier pages scanned. Putting them on the flash drive now.”

Steve’s watch flashed.

Both of them stared at it for a moment, then Bucky motioned for him to get over to the desk. They couldn’t possibly hide behind it, they were two grown men. Maybe they would fit, but—

“Come here,” Bucky commanded, sitting down on the edge of the desk.

“What?”

“Get over here.” Steve’s watch began flashing orange, meaning that the second sensor had been triggered. “Get over here!”

Steve hurried over and tried to sit down next to Bucky, but instead he was caught by the tie and dragged over until he was standing between Bucky’s legs. Not a place Steve was comfortable being right now.

“What are you doing?” Steve hissed as Bucky started loosening his tie.

“Jacket. Off,” Bucky snarled and Steve listened only because he had no idea what was going on.

Steve’s watch flashed red and both of them went wide-eyed for a moment. The Winter Soldier looked him in the eye with a steady gaze and Steve was immediately wishing he’d never crossed the room.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky asked.

He trusted Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. “Uh—“

“Too late.” There was a click of the door handle and all of a sudden Steve was getting crushed by Bucky’s arms. This had to be a trap. Steve desperately clawed at Bucky’s shoulders, but then there was something soft on his neck that turned warm, wet, and scratchy.

Oh god. It was Bucky’s mouth.

“What the hell are you—“

“James?”

Steve froze and Bucky stopped chewing on the side of his throat.

“Stephanie,” Bucky greeted, but not before pressing another chaste kiss to Steve’s neck. Steve was pretty sure his entire body was bright red at this point, utterly embarrassed and appalled at what had just happened.

“What the…What the hell is this? You give me the signal and I come up to find you and…and your assistant up here! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“To be fair, I didn’t give you any signal. I just went up the stairs. I had Mark up here waiting already, and I was going to come down and get you in a minute. Or you can join us, if you want.” There was that smile again, but Steve was about ready to strangle Bucky for this. This was unnecessary and downright wrong. “Would that be okay with you, Mark? If Stephanie joins us?”

Steve couldn’t read Bucky’s gaze. He just stared and tried to find something to say.

“I don’t want to join you, you sicko. You’ve got serious fucking problems,” Stephanie snapped, heading back the way she came.

“I don’t think fucking is ever a problem, babe.”

The door slammed shut and Steve gave Bucky the hardest shove he could muster and backed up as fast as he dared without risking falling over, rubbing furiously at his neck.

“What the hell was that?!? What the hell was that?” he hissed, trying to rub off every part of his skin that might hold a trace of Bucky’s saliva.

Bucky wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and popped the flash drive out of the computer. “The only way we were going to not look like two men snooping around looking for a dossier was if we looked like we were doing—“

“You didn’t have to put your lips on me,” Steve snarled. “You didn’t have to actually put your lips on me!”

The Winter Soldier looked genuinely surprised at his reaction. “What, do you have something against to men kissing? Is that what this is about?”

Steve was at Bucky’s throat in a second, grabbing his collar with both hands. Bucky lifted his metal arm, but only gripped Steve’s. He didn’t try to wrench him off.

“This is about you, Bucky,” Steve spat. “This is about you, the Winter Soldier you, trying to ruin the real Bucky. This isn’t about two men, this is about me and you.”

“I’m not trying to ruin Bucky,” the Winter Soldier hissed.

“Yes you are!” Steve shouted, giving Bucky a shake. His voice was trembling and he didn’t know why, but it was. “That’s what all this has been about! All of it! You act like him, you use his memories to sucker me all the time. You’re nice to me when you hate my guts. Why? _Why_?” He gave Bucky another shake. “I’ll tell ya why. So you can make my life miserable when he comes back, that’s why. So you can leave me with all of this—this _shit_ to deal with when he comes back and can’t look at me. So you can pull stuff like this.”

He was breathing hard, but he was just so angry. That kissing had pushed things over the line. That was something they couldn’t come back from even if Steve hadn’t returned it. Even if it was just for a mission.

“You think all of this was to hurt you and Bucky,” Bucky finally said.

“Don’t you dare tell me is wasn’t,” Steve seethed, his fingers still curled in Bucky’s collar. “Don’t you dare.”

“I know you think I’m a monster,” Bucky started, making sure to meet his eye. “That I am some _thing_ that has taken over your friend and destroyed him. But I never tricked you. Is it so impossible to believe that I do not hate you?”

“Don’t,” Steve cut. He was so done with all of this. With all of the uncertainty and apprehension. He was sick of wondering if Bucky was ever going to come back. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He let go of Bucky with a shove and headed for the door, readjusting his glasses and grabbing his jacket off of the floor with a huff. His neck was still tingling and it was making his stomach churn to think that Bucky’s lips had caused that. It felt like his flesh was burning.

“He’s going to come back,” the Winter Soldier said quietly. “I can’t keep him out of my head.”

Steve paused.

“But he won’t be the same. Do not expect him to be. It took years to create me, and you’re destroying this part of him in a matter of months. There will be consequences.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve murmured. “You’re not a doctor. The doctors say he’ll be back with time. He’ll recover from what he did.  From what _you_ did. He’ll be back.”

“Did you ever come back?” Bucky asked, his voice low. “I know no person who has ever gone into a war and come back.”

Steve gripped the door handle, unable to look back and see what darkness Bucky was trying to hide in his face. Thinking like that would be the end of everything.

“Bucky will.”


	10. Chapter 10

The air smelled of sweet corn and summer heat. The night seemed like one where memories were made—one with just enough humidity to keep the air warm, but not enough to keep people apart out of fear of being sweated on.

A soft wind rustled the corn stalks as Steve leaned against his motorcycle, arms crossed and scanning the horizon. It was an opportune moment for a cigarette—at least, that was the first thing that came to mind as he stood there. Of course, Steve would never smoke and he’d never wanted to, but it just seemed like one of those moments. Cinematic. Something like that.

The bike to his right was vacant, with moonlight shining off of the silver chrome and headlight.

After the success of the Hoffman mission, Steve had gotten both of his motorcycles (the newest one a Christmas present from Tony) shipped to him. SHIELD trusted Bucky enough now not to go running off, but just in case, Steve’s fingerprint had to authorize the bike to start. It had been a week since that mission and not once had Bucky tried to escape.

But he had been distant in other ways.

So had Steve. He wasn’t sure who had really started it, but now—two weeks after the Hoffman mission—they barely spoke to each other. Though Steve had thought they didn’t talk much before, he hadn’t realized that all of their little conversations about how to work the toaster or if the lake looked choppy that day had really added up. Not speaking at all made the house a new kind of quiet. A kind of quiet that made him think too much.

Naturally, he thought about Bucky.

Unnaturally, he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about Bucky.

Since discovering the Winter Soldier’s true identity, Steve had Bucky on his mind a lot. But it fell to the wayside when he got a cup of coffee or stayed up until an ungodly hour playing cards with Sam. Now, he couldn’t find a single moment where he wasn’t reliving some memory of Bucky or listening intently to the Winter Soldier whittling away on the baloney with angry, quick strokes of his knife, trying to imagine what he might be thinking about.

When they did talk, Steve found himself hanging on every word, wishing Bucky would talk to him just a moment longer, but not wanting to say anything himself. It was stupid, he knew—and immature. Steve wanted to talk to the real Bucky, that was all. The Hoffman mission had upset him so much that he just wanted his best friend back.

No, Steve and the Winter Soldier were not on good terms. But they could still work together. They still did.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice crackled over his radio. “Look east and tell me if you see a light.”

Steve stood up and looked east as another gentle wind rolled through the cornfields around him. Sure enough, there was a tiny light in the distance, flickering ever so slightly. “Yeah, I see a light.”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“Have you gotten the packets yet?” Steve asked after a moment. They had been tasked to raid a farm and collect samples of corn, soybeans, and whatever else was growing there, then to see if they could steal the packets detailing what hormones and chemicals had been added to the plants. This company had been crushing the competition with larger, more vibrant crops. SHIELD had long suspected illegal additions to the food, but apparently the company had enough political sway that the government agency assigned to keep track of such things had turned a blind eye.

It was just another thing to add to the list of why Steve didn’t really like the government. He never really had, even back in the forties. Some decisions the government had made for political reasons had left a lot of men dead.  Now was no different. Maybe that was just how government worked.

“I got everything,” Bucky replied. “I’m heading back to you now.”

“Hurry. You never know when this guy is going to wake up. Or when his dogs are going to wake up.” Steve looked back to the tiny light, now a little bigger. A low, eerie howl alerted Steve to what that light belonged to.

“Bucky?” he asked into his radio.

“Yeah?” Bucky panted. He was running.

“That’s a train coming. You’d better get across the tracks before it gets here.”

“Copy.”

Steve frowned at the oncoming train and jogged up the little rise in the field to the railroad tracks. Considering all of the technology these days, he’d been pretty surprised that trains were still being used at all.  People didn’t ride on them as much, he knew, but Steve liked to imagine how it was after the war, with trains filled with returning soldiers waiting to see their loved ones again.

That would have been great to see.

Once he got to the tracks, he looked down the dirt road to see a shadow not too far off, with a left arm that was reflecting the moonlight. The train let out another low whistle and Steve put a foot on the tracks to feel the vibrations as it barreled toward them. It was moving fast, probably faster than it moved during the day, judging by the looks of it. It was a little bit terrifying to stand there as a train was coming, but Steve wanted to make sure Bucky was getting along all right.

After a few long seconds of darting his eyes back and forth from the train to Bucky, it was clear Bucky was only going to make it by the skin of his teeth if he even made it at all.

“You need to move faster,” Steve said into his radio. “You aren’t going to make it at that speed.”

Bucky picked up the pace to an all-out sprint, even faster than he had been running before, and he had been sprinting pretty hard.

Steve stepped back off of the tracks as the train neared, roaring closer and closer every second. Nervousness started to grip his chest as Bucky started up the rise and Steve could see the fear in his eyes as he came closer.

The train was going to hit him.

If he kept running, the train was going to hit him.

The train was going to hit Bucky.

Steve’s eyes blew wide as he charged back toward the tracks. The headlights washed Bucky’s face in pale, yellow light, almost like a flashlight being turned on in the darkness in one of those horror films he’d been forced to watch with Clint last Halloween. It made Bucky’s skin look a sickly yellow.

“Stop!” he screamed, putting up his hands. “Stop!” Bucky wouldn’t survive getting hit by a train. Steve was pretty sure nobody except maybe Bruce and Thor could even hope to.

Bucky looked up at him, then nothing.

Steve flinched away as the train screamed past, ducking behind his arm even though he knew he hadn’t been struck. His heart was crashing around in his chest and there were tears welling up in his eyes out of sheer terror at what might have just happened.

Steve fell to his knees as train cars roared by in front of him.

Bucky couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be.

This was an insignificant mission—nothing in comparison to what they were both trained to be handling. And a stupid train…A stupid train could have just ended it all. Over some stupid seeds and a stupid farm.

It had all happened too fast for him to recall whether or not Bucky had been hit. It was too loud to hear, and he’d shut his eyes before he had seen anything. Oh god. Oh god, Bucky couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be dead.

Steve dug his fingers into the damp soil by his knees, gripping the dirt as though that might somehow tell him that Bucky was alive. He had to still be alive.

Steve stared down the line of train cars, refusing to think about anything until he had an answer. If that last image of Bucky, awash in putrid yellow light, out of breath—no, he couldn’t think like that.

With a final _woosh,_ the train was gone like a theater curtain ripped off in a tornado. Unceremoniously and horribly quick for revealing something that could be so terrible.

He nearly screamed when he saw Bucky standing there, absolutely still and looking at the ground with impossibly wide eyes.

Steve got to his feet and ran over, grabbing Bucky in a hug, not caring if he was in a disagreement with the Winter Soldier right now. He’d nearly lost his friend a second time…from a train.

Oh no.

Steve’s memory of Bucky’s fall had been so traumatic that all he could really remember was that they were on the edge of a mountain with a river roaring far below. He hadn’t even registered the connection to the train.

No wonder the Winter Soldier had been so anxious to get back across the tracks.

“Bucky,” Steve said, pulling back and bending down just slightly to look up into his best friend’s eyes. Bucky was still staring at some invisible spot on the ground. “Bucky, it’s me. Steve, remember? Bucky?”

He rubbed the sides of Bucky’s arms, trying to snap him from whatever this was. Back in the war he had seen young men paralyzed with fear, and this looked a lot like one of those times. Like when he’d found Bucky having nightmares—which had been happening more often as of late, but not to the degree of the first time.

“Bucky, can you talk to me?” he asked, bringing up a hand to lightly tap Bucky’s cheek with his palm. “Buck?”

Finally, Bucky’s eyes shifted. That little movement started Bucky shaking so fiercely that even Steve’s hands on his arms weren’t doing much to steady him.

They met eyes and Steve was pretty sure some of the life was sucked from him at the very sight of what lay within those pale blue irises, still all but glowing even in just the moonlight.

Inside Bucky’s gaze was something Steve had only ever seen in dead men. A clouded expression so distant, so riddled with guilt that it was almost as if the corpse were still living. But Bucky was very much alive.

He remembered.

The Winter Soldier had warned of what would happen if it came back all at once, but Steve hadn’t expected to see it all happen so quickly. There was fear in Bucky’s eyes from the train, but behind that there was the beaten pulp of a person that had been present for every killing, every strangling, every murder. It was as disturbing as it was heartbreaking, especially because this was Bucky that he was looking at.

Bucky blinked and Steve was thrown from what he had seen. A chill ran through him like he had just had an encounter with a paranormal being.

“We need to get you home,” Steve murmured mostly to himself. “Come on.”

Bucky didn’t move. He just kept staring.

“Bucky, can you even hear me?” Steve asked, looking him in the eyes again.

An almost indiscernible nod. Other than that, Bucky wasn’t responding. That meant they wouldn’t be able to get on their bikes separately, but leaving Bucky’s bike would make it very obvious that had been snooping. The mission would be compromised and Steve wasn’t sure what that would do to this operation. Obviously, Bucky was more important, but he would rather avoid the potential reprimands SHIELD could put in place if they botched this.

“Okay, come with me. You gotta walk, Buck.” He extended a hand. “Come on. I’ll help you over the tracks. You’re safe.” When Bucky didn’t take his hand, Steve took his anyway, squeezing firmly to try and somehow ground his friend. All Bucky did was flinch a little.

With gentle pulling pressure, Steve guided Bucky forward with a few shaking steps. “There ya go. That’s it,” Steve soothed, keeping a careful eye on Bucky’s face. He was still stunned and shaking.

After they were past the railroad tracks, Bucky started walking a little easier, though Steve kept ahold of his hand, walking backwards in front of his friend to keep watch on Bucky’s condition. His face never changed, there was just that hollow stare.

Steve slipped onto his bike and patted the seat behind him. He and Bucky had gone on plenty of joyrides during the war, most of which where unplanned. One time Bucky came running out of a French bakery with two bottles of liquor and a furious, barely-clothed French woman screaming behind him. That open-mouthed smirk always meant Steve was in trouble whenever he saw it.

Reluctantly, Bucky moved onto the back of the bike with shaky, jerky movements and no noise whatsoever. Then he just sat there as Steve revved up the engine. The throaty growl wasn’t going to reach the farmhouse—at least, it hadn’t when they arrived.

Steve turned to look at him. “You gotta hold on,” he murmured. When Bucky didn’t move, he shifted, twisting around further to grab Bucky’s hands and awkwardly maneuver them to settle on his shoulders. Once in place, Steve turned back to the handlebars and slowly started the bike into motion.

Within five seconds, Bucky’s metal arm was threatening to snap his collarbone all over again because he was holding on so tight. It hurt enough that Steve had to stop the bike for a moment.

“Jeeze, Buck. It’s just a motorcycle,” he chuckled, prying off Bucky’s hands and moving them down to his waist instead. “Try holding on here so ya don’t end up killing me.” He tried to flash a good-natured smile, but Bucky’s gaze drifted off of him in a heartbeat until he was staring off to the side into the corn.

Once Steve started driving again and hit a bumpy patch, both of Bucky’s arms had looped around his waist. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but it wasn’t as bad as having his shoulders practically snapped off. The side of Bucky’s face wedged between his shoulder blades—it was exactly the way a child would hold on who had never ridden a motorcycle before. Steve tried to soothe him, but any hope of Bucky relaxing was gone every time they hit so much as a bump in the road.

So he decided to make that call about the other bike.

“If it isn’t the Capsicle himself,” Tony greeted after one ring. “Have you called me to profess your undying devotion?”

“Very funny. I’m calling to ask a favor.”

“A favor? I thought you church-going folk don’t ask for favors,” Tony said and Steve could hear the smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, well this is important. You know that bike you gave me at Christmas?”

“The one I paid for that cost more than what you make in a year? Yeah, I remember. Why, did you wreck it?”

Steve shook his head, even though Tony wouldn’t be able to see that. “No, no, it’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but Tony wasn’t talking about the situation with Bucky. “I just…it needs to be picked up. Something’s happened.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Are you okay, Steve?”

“Yeah. It’s not me.” He didn’t want to say that it was Bucky for fear that it might stir something bad in him and cause him to do something dangerous on the back of the bike.

“Did something happen to Bucky?”

“Yes,” Steve said quickly. “I’m dealing with it. I’m going to call Bruce as soon as we get back to the apartment. But we were on a mission when things happened…I need that bike removed. I really hate asking for a favor, but I didn’t want to destroy it and—“

“No worries, Spangles. I’ll get the bike. And I’m getting Bruce a flight over there for tomorrow.”

Steve was surprised, to say the least. He had fully expected an onslaught of teasing and groveling before Tony would budge. He immediately felt bad—sometimes he assumed Tony was a lot meaner than he really was.

“Wow, uh. Thanks, Tony. I really appreciate it. Really, I—“

“Hey,” Tony interrupted, “I know what it feels like when your friend’s in trouble. Don’t worry about the bike. And you should probably focus on driving, because you suck at it. I’ll text you.”

“Thank—“

Tony hung up on him. That part wasn’t surprising. That little bit of empathy was about all Tony ever showed, and even that was more than Steve had ever heard from him before. At least, not in awhile.

Steve turned his head to look behind him at Bucky, but all he could see was Bucky’s dark hair whipping around in the wind behind him.

“You okay back there?” he asked.

Buck didn’t respond.

Steve frowned, then flicked his wrists for more speed as they tore down the country roads that had brought them there. He hoped that Bruce would tell him that this was okay. That this would pass. Bucky had dodged a bullet once already tonight, surely he could dodge just one more.

Quite against what he had been thinking earlier, Steve wished the Winter Soldier was around to argue.

 

* * *

 

 

“If I heard your story correctly, then I can’t say for sure what kind of effect this is going to have on him,” Bruce said quietly, flashing a light into Bucky’s eyes. After arriving home the night before, Steve had sat Bucky on the couch and played music to try and help him sleep, but he’d stayed awake all night staring at the blank TV. He wasn’t responding to anything, wasn’t eating, wasn’t drinking.

Bruce shook his head, flicking the light off. “He’s in a serious state of shock. But, like you, medications won’t do him much good. His blood pressure is okay, and I don’t think taking him to a hospital would be a good idea.”

Steve was shifting uneasily on his feet, arms crossed as Bruce continued his examination of Bucky’s condition. “I can’t just leave him like this,” Steve said. “What can I do?”

Bruce carefully poked and prodded, but Bucky made no move to indicate he realized he was being touched. He didn’t retaliate either, which made things all the more unnerving.

“I’ll hook him up to an IV to get him some fluids. Try convincing him to eat, if you can. You know him better than anyone, but none of us know what he was put through under…their control.” Bruce had already warned about using potentially triggering names and phrases. “Comfort him. Smell is a very good calming tactic—cook his favorite meal, burn a candle with his favorite scent. It doesn’t have to be perfect and it’s going to take a long time to unravel this, I think.”

“Will he be like this the whole time?” Steve asked. He hated seeing Bucky like this. He had thought he looked like a husk of a person before, but now Steve was seeing what that truly looked like.

Bruce shrugged. “Given how slowly he progressed regaining his memories gradually, I’m going to guess yes. Right now he’s traumatized. Just shower him with calming, soothing things and he’ll come around.”

“Can he even hear us?”

“Well, his ears do work,” Bruce said, but his attempt at humor was flat at best. “But as for registering it, I’m not sure. Assume he can though, so don’t say things that might upset him.”

Steve prayed that Bucky would come out of this more quickly than the last time he had been asked to help him regain something lost. He shuffled closer to the couch and placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“He’s been having nightmares,” Steve murmured. “Before…this.”

“I can imagine he would,” Bruce said with a nod. “As much as it may not seem like it, that’s probably a good thing. It means he’s processing.”

That didn’t sound much like processing to Steve, but he took Bruce’s word for it.

A few minutes later and Bucky had an IV in his arm attached to a little metal stand that Bruce had pulled out of his medical suitcase that reminded Steve of the various doctors who had come to inspect him for pneumonia, who all carried snap-close suitcases full of equipment. He remembered lying in bed, feeling the fluid in his lungs but not coughing because he could see Bucky’s shadow in the hallway where he was pressed against the wall, listening to see if this was finally the time Steve wouldn’t make it.

“All right, Mr. Barnes,” Bruce said with a smile to Bucky. “I think I’ve done everything I can do for you right now.” He turned to Steve. “Let me know when he starts talking again—if he hasn’t said anything in two weeks, I’ll come out for another visit. Just keep things as comfortable and happy around here as you can and make sure he gets enough to eat and drink.”

Steve shook Bruce’s hand and thanked him. “It really means a lot that you came out here like this. After it happened…I just didn’t know what was going on.”

“Ah, Tony would have moved the earth to get me over here.”

“Has something happened to one of his friends? He wasn’t acting like he normally does when I talked to him.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed in thought. “Nothing that I can think of. Tony really does have a soft spot for helping people though. And you’re his friend. Tony always takes care of his friends. That’s the only reason I’m living in a soundproof, ultra-secure single-person home right off of Central Park.” He laughed. “God knows I wouldn’t have even thought about accepting it if he hadn’t already bought it for me before he offered.”

Steve smiled. Tony really was a good guy. “It just surprised me, is all.” He gripped the top of the doorframe as Bruce made his way into the hallway. “Hey, Bruce?”

Bruce paused, slipping his pen back in his jacket pocket. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, I just wanted to ask before you left—Is it okay if I leave the apartment while he’s here? Just to go get groceries and things? I won’t leave him for long.”

“That would be fine. I would just leave some music on or the TV. Obviously, the shorter your trips the better.  After a few days, maybe try taking him with you. That might be good for him.”

The first genuine smile since arriving home spread on Steve’s lips. He could do this—he would just mimic what Bucky had done for him when he was sick. Going to the grocery store together would be just the same as when Bucky had helped him up out of bed for the first time after that same bout with pneumonia and they took a walk around the block.

“Great. I’ll see ya later Bruce. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Steve. Call me if you need anything.”

Steve waved goodbye and shut the door once Bruce had safely made it to the elevator. For some reason, this felt like it would be so much easier than dodging around memories and coaxing the real Bucky through the cracks in the Winter Soldier.

First, Steve took a blanket from his bedroom and brought it out to his best friend. He knew this routine: he had observed it a thousand times. The wood floor creaked as he padded back into the living room, humming quietly to himself.

Bucky’s expression never changed as Steve tucked the blanket around him, he was just staring at the TV even though there was nothing on it.

“Wanna watch TV, huh?” Steve chuckled, turning it on with the remote. He gave Bucky’s hair a gentle ruffle once he decided that the nature channel was the best option. The news channels were running stories about HYDRA every minute of the day, even though they only had a few scraps of information to go on. He didn’t want to take that risk.

Five minutes later and Steve had a bowl of popcorn in his hands. He plopped down on the couch right next to Bucky, his shoulder lightly pressed against Bucky’s metal one.

“I broh yuh fom popurn,” Steve said with a mouth full of kernels. He set the bowl on his lap and offered a piece to Bucky. “Hom on,” he urged, failing to hold in his laughter, which resulted in a few pieces of popcorn falling onto his lap.

Bucky didn’t take it, but Steve had expected that and—since he’d stopped chuckling—he lifted the popcorn up to Bucky’s lips. It wasn’t quite the same as Bucky spooning disgusting cough syrup down his throat, but Steve couldn’t help but grin when Bucky parted his lips just enough to take it.

Steve settled into the couch a little more as Bucky chewed, briefly glancing out the window at the dark grey skies outside.  It was going to start raining any minute.

“You know,” he said through a grin. “I think this’ll be the first rainstorm where you don’t pace around the flat and start making up plans for when it gets sunny out.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Steve shoveled down another handful of popcorn and gave Bucky another piece. His heart still hurt from the near-devastating loss he’d felt as that train had been roaring past, but things were looking so much better now. Somehow, Bucky was going to make it.

Somehow, they would both come back.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve probably sounded like a crazy person to any neighbors that could hear him. He spent the afternoon talking to Bucky about anything and everything: the apartment decorations, the nature channel, that morning’s breakfast. He understood that Bucky probably wouldn’t be talking for some time, but Steve was comforted by the fact that this was the real Bucky sitting beside him. After having not spoken for almost two weeks, it was a relief to be talking again, even if Bucky still wasn’t saying anything.

That too, was like when he had been sick. Bucky would sit on the edge of his bed and read the newspaper every morning. When they were still in school, he talked about the schoolyard gossip when he wasn’t trying to keep Steve caught up in his work. He remembered staring at the door, waiting for Bucky to come busting in, usually fuming about a bad grade in history or, when they were older, about how big of a jerk his boss was as the docks.

Both of them had been prepared to live out life that way; growing into their later years together, gushing about how this girl was ‘the one’ and asking each other to be best man, attending each other’s weddings, being the first person to hear that a baby was on the way, being godfather, watching their children repeat history—all while he and Bucky remained the best friends they had always been. Steve had thought they would die old men, withered with age. In all likelihood, he would have died first, given that he was so frail.

Then the war had turned their lives into a horrible mess. Sometimes he wondered if this was some form of sick joke. It had been hard enough living in the world when he was supposed to be dying in it, but after discovering what had happened to Bucky, what was happening to Peggy…Some days it was too much. Thank god he had Sam around, who knew what the signs were and took him out for ice cream or challenged him to some kind of pointless mind game to distract him.  Sam was the one who found Bucky in Instanbul—at least, he had picked up some radio talk about a man with a silver arm. Without Sam, Steve would probably still be searching. He owed him a lot.

After carefully removing the IV from Bucky’s arm, he hoisted him up from the couch.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” Steve lifted Bucky’s arm over his shoulder and walked him to Bucky’s bedroom as if Bucky were injured.

Steve was humming as they entered the bedroom. He hadn’t been inside since a few nights earlier when the Winter Soldier had a nightmare, but it hadn’t been something he could do anything about, so he’d left rather quickly without looking around.

Everything was immaculately in place. So neat that it looked like nobody had ever been inside the room at all, which was probably the point. Bucky’s clothes were neatly folded in the dresser, and a few jackets were on hangars in the closet, shoved into the furthest corner so that they weren’t visible unless someone looked inside.

Bucky was unresponsive to just about everything, so Steve didn’t even ask him before he started unbuttoning the thick leather jacket HYDRA had given him. The one the Winter Soldier wore whenever he went on a mission (or some variation of it—he had several). There were about a thousand straps, buckles, and fasteners on the thing, so it took Steve quite awhile to finally get it off. All the while, Bucky just stood there, correcting his balance when Steve tugged at a strap, but otherwise unmoving.

That unexplainable feeling came over him again as he tore off Bucky’s kneepads. Suddenly he was conscious of every breath Bucky took, and of his own heartbeat quickening in his chest. He ignored it, however, and helped Bucky out of his pants and then into some pajama sweats. Once they were up over his hips, Steve found himself staring at Bucky’s exposed stomach as it moved in and out, breath by breath.

Before the war, Bucky had muscle, but coupled with the dozens of days that Bucky had gone without food thanks to the Great Depression, he was always bordering on too thin. Now…well, he had his own serum to give him all the muscle he would ever need.

A long breath pushed through Bucky’s nose and Steve actually jumped, his cheeks flushing red. Jesus, the last thing he needed was the Winter Soldier to be the one coming out of this and thinking that Steve enjoyed staring at his best friend’s torso.

“Uh, here, I’ll get you a shirt.” He turned to the dresser and rummaged through until he found a t-shirt with a faded picture of that album that Sam had played nonstop while he was recovering in the hospital in DC. So maybe Natasha hadn’t been the only one with input on Bucky’s wardrobe.

Getting the shirt on was pretty difficult when Bucky would barely lift his arms on his own. Steve probably should have given up, but he was too embarrassed from being ‘caught’ that he wasn’t about to let it go and send Bucky to bed shirtless.

Bucky slid onto the futon with little coaxing, and Steve covered him up with a blanket after making sure his back was pressed against the back of the futon to keep him comfortable.

“You gotta shut your eyes, Buck,” Steve soothed from where he sat beside him. “Can’t sleep with your eyes open.”

For a long moment, Steve was pretty sure he was going to have to close Bucky’s eyes for him, but then Bucky closed them on his own, though his body tensed when he did so.

“You’re all right,” Steve murmured, reaching past Bucky’s metal shoulder to rub his back. He wasn’t entirely sure the Winter Soldier had been telling the truth about him being able to feel anything in his metal arm. “My room is just across the hall if you need me. Just wake me up, even if you just want a glass of water or something. I promise I won’t mind.”

A shiver ran through Bucky’s body and Steve frowned. It was hot out, but he pulled another thinner blanket up over Bucky’s shoulders to tuck him in just in case he was cold.

Steve knew how it felt to wake up in the middle of the night and feel frozen solid.

“Night, Buck. Sleep tight,” he murmured, giving Bucky’s back a little rub before he stood. Bucky peeked one eye open and looked at him for a long moment, then shut it again.

Steve sighed when he entered his bedroom. Unlike Bucky’s, the only thing that wasn’t in disarray was his dresser. His bed was unkempt and there was clutter on pretty much every surface: sketchbooks, pencils, gloves—anything and everything. But cleaning was the last thing he wanted to do right then, so he just stripped out of his clothes and into sweats before crawling into bed.

It didn’t feel so much like a marshmallow anymore—Sam said that was a good thing. Steve still felt guilty sometimes, like he was going soft by sleeping in a nice comfy bed instead of going out to war and curling up on the ground. He’d slept on gravel before. Gravel covered by his jacket and a thin sleeping bag. His face had hurt like hell all day afterward and Bucky had actually bruised his cheekbone that night.

Reminiscing always made him tired though, so Steve was asleep before too long.

 

 

 

He woke up in a meadow. Wind was blowing, but it was silent all around him, then muffled like he was underwater. Grass tickled his palms as he strode toward the sun, smiling because he knew this place. Austria.

Sure enough, when he turned around there was a crowd of battered men behind him, with white smiles that stuck out against the dark grime that covered their faces. It was warm and the air smelled sweeter than anything in the world. Even though their feet were tired and heavy, they kept walking and walking and walking back toward base. Toward Peggy—he remembered that was on the forefront on his mind then.

“Steve!” He turned to see Bucky running toward him with a frothing bottle of pink champagne. Bubbles from it were floating away into the sky in a fizzy mist that made him laugh.

There was a champagne flute in his hand that he extended out to Bucky, who laughed as he poured and promptly overflowed the glass. Bucky was drunk with a stupidly happy smile on his face.

“Watch out for the bears,” Bucky laughed.

Steve laughed right back. “I will.” His champagne glass was empty. “Can I have s’more?”

Bucky poured more and pink bubbly veins were soon mapping his arms as he continued laughing about bears. Bucky reached out and yanked him to his side, just like when Steve was small enough to fit his shoulder snug under Bucky’s arm.

“Hey,” Bucky said between drunk chuckles. “Look over there.” Steve followed Bucky’s gaze to an unmoving black something standing there with giant black goggles, long dark hair, and a mask covering the rest of the face.

The Winter Soldier.

“Let’s get outta here,” Steve mumbled, looking back to Bucky.

Black goggles were staring back at him.

He tried to shout, but metal fingers closed around his throat, crushing him. Ice water crashed over his body as he was suddenly submerged into arctic waters, the Winter Soldier leering down at him.

Time stopped. Noises stopped. Everything was unmoving until Steve took a huge breath, flooding every part of him with freezing water.

 

 

 

He woke up coughing. His hand flew to his throat to feel if there was any damage, but of course it had all been a dream. A nightmare. Steve hadn’t had one of those in a very long time, and that was the first time he’d seen the Winter Soldier in one of them.

Steve swore he was going to throw up water any moment—he could feel it in the back of his throat—but nothing came. He was covered in a cold sweat and his heart was going faster than it had gone in a long time. He didn’t even remember the dream anymore, just the end of it. And pink champag—

Someone was there.

He rolled over as quickly as he could and hit something in his bed that gave a startled grunt. That about scared the living daylights out of Steve Rogers, who was already pretty high up on the terrified scale. Who the hell was—

Bucky turned his head to look back at him, his hair a moppy mess around his face. That sour look was the same one the Winter Soldier had given him every morning before his coffee, but this was the real Bucky. Steve just knew. Only the real Bucky would climb into bed with him to sleep back-to-back, because that was how they had slept almost every night during their time in the war together. That was when Bucky felt safe.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve huffed, passing a hand over his face before crashing back down onto his back on the mattress. Bucky turned his head back to face the door again and snuggled back against the pillow.

“I should be embarrassed, you know,” Steve said after a few moments. “You snuck in here while I was sleeping and I didn’t even notice. That’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

No response. He hadn’t really expected one.

Steve wanted to go back to sleep, but he wasn’t comfortable anymore. He was sticky with sweat and that made him feel like he’s soaked the mattress, even though he knew he hadn’t. No sleeping for him, but a shower was definitely in order.

Well, maybe it could wait just a second. He was still pretty tired.

“Shoulda known you were in here, that’s the only reason I don’t have any blankets,” he muttered, though he wasn’t actually mad about it. He did make sure to grab two fistfuls of covers and yank them over to his side though.

Given what had happened last night with the incredibly embarrassing moment of being caught staring at his best friend, Steve didn’t settle back against Bucky. He could feel his body heat, but actually touching him would just…He didn’t even want to think about what that could mean. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it one bit.

“Wake me up if you get up,” Steve murmured as he settled into the pillow again. A little bit of sleeping in wouldn’t be so bad. He deserved it, or something. One day of sleeping in wouldn’t kill him.

He closed his eyes as the familiar tingle in his brain said he was going to be out soon. The birds outside chirped happily in a sweet morning lullaby.

Then Bucky shifted until their backs were pressed together.

Steve’s eyes flew open and for a few moments he internally panicked, as though he had somehow done something wrong by letting it happen. But Bucky didn’t move after that. Steve let out another sigh and stared out the window, unused to the feeling of someone sleeping beside him. This wasn’t the war—there were plenty of other places for Bucky to sleep. He would let it slide until Bucky felt better, but this kind of thing couldn’t continue. Times had changed.

A little whurring noise caused Steve to cringe, but instead of being punched (as that noise would usually prelude to), Bucky yanked the covers clean off of him with his metal arm.

Steve burst out laughing, and started into another round of coughs simply because he wasn’t used to laughing anymore. Not this hard anyway. There he was, without covers, because he couldn’t help but be a smartass.

Once he finally stopped, there were happy tears in his eyes that he had to swipe away with one last chuckle. It felt so good to laugh, even though it was lonely to do so without Bucky laughing with him. With a big breath, he leaned back against his best friend, this time with no qualms about doing so.

Sleep claimed him in minutes.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve’s nap was an excellent one. Any tiredness he had developed from waking up after a nightmare had been dissolved. When he woke, it was to warmth and comfort, made even better because he felt safer. Because though Bucky never slept without his back pressed to something, Steve had been forced to abandon that habit. Having tasted it again…it just felt great. He felt great.  Sleeping in had never felt so good.

Even Bucky seemed to wake up faster than usual. Steve fixed up omelets for breakfast and ended up eating both of them because Bucky only took two forkfuls that Steve offered him, then refused to open his mouth. He just stared down at the table and every so often he would start shaking, usually when it was quiet.

It didn’t take long for Steve to decide that staying around the apartment was only going to make this worse. Bucky needed to be outside.

“Let’s go to the dock,” Steve suggested, looking over his shoulder at the lake. “We can get something at the café on the way. “

Bucky didn’t even blink or look up at him at all. The only evidence that he was even alive was that he had that grumpy morning look on his face.

“I’ll get you a coffee. Maybe that’ll cheer you up a little, huh?” He cracked a grin as he finished up his second omelet and brought the plates to the sink. At least Bucky had eaten some of his breakfast, so it wasn’t like he was going to starve. But he would need to eat more and Steve was going to worry about him until he did. And until he felt better.

He affectionately ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Come on, let’s get a move on. I know how you are without coffee.”

 

 

When they stepped into the café, color seemed to come back to Bucky’s face. It was a warm and cozy little shop, with tangerine walls and driftwood accents to give it a beachy theme. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air, a scent that always helped Steve to feel a little more awake. When he had lived in New York, coffee shops had been his favorite place to be. When he wasn’t boxing or running, he was sketching at a coffee shop. He had pages and pages of buildings, people, and the rather eclectic rat dogs that people put clothes on and little tiny leashes. Steve was definitely a fan of big dogs—he was afraid he might step on one if it was any shorter than his knee.

There wasn’t a line and though that would be a nightmare anywhere else at eight in the morning, here it was the norm. Older folks just weren’t into the fancy drinks. The lines formed for ice cream—and those were often out the door, especially after the lone movie theatre let out in the evenings.

“Good morning, Steve,” the barista greeted. Her name was Heather, Steve had met her while he was grocery shopping over a month ago. It was a small town—he knew practically everyone that lived here year-round by now.

Heather had curly hair that probably went down to her ankles, but she always wore it in a blonde and grey tie-dye of a bun, like she was today. And always coupled with a long cotton dress, usually some shade of green, though today it was yellow.

“Morning, Heather,” he greeted with a smile before he looked up at the menu. He knew Bucky liked milk in his coffee, but the Winter Soldier always got some kind of frappelattecino or whatever they were called when he would come back to the flat with coffee.

Heather gave Bucky an expectant look, waiting for an introduction, but Bucky was staring at nothing in the direction of the pastry counter. A few uncomfortable seconds ticked by, and something like understanding clicked in Heather’s head. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Bucky,” Steve said with a glance over to him. “He’s my best friend, has been since we were kids.”

“I’ve seen him walking around sometimes. You arm is hard to miss, young man.”

Steve tensed a little when Bucky actually looked up to meet her eyes. Heather smiled, but Steve saw a flicker of discomfort in her eyes.

“He goes for the flare, that’s for sure,” Steve said with a false chuckle. “You don’t even want to know how much that prosthetic cost.” A life. A mind. A best friend.

“Well, what would you both like this morning? Any plans for the day?”

“I’ll take a frozen hot chocolate, and I’ll get Bucky a caramel latte.” Bucky had always loved caramel squares—his mother bought him a handful every Christmas and Bucky made them last until February, occasionally he even made it to March with half of one left. “No big plans for the day, just going to the dock to hang out for awhile.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Heather said with a smile as she started preparing their drinks. “It’s gonna be a hot one today. Hope you both brought some sunscreen!”

Steve chuckled, then started noticing that Bucky was still staring at Heather, tracking her movements.

“Hey,” he whispered, lightly knocking Bucky with his shoulder. “Don’t worry about what she said, okay? She didn’t say it to be mean.”

But Bucky just kept watching her, his eyes the only part of his face that was moving. There was a look in his eyes that Steve didn’t like at all.

He quickly paid for the drinks once they were finished, and gripped Bucky’s arm before half-dragging him out of the café.

“Here, take your latte,” Steve said once they were clear of Heather. He pushed the warm latte to Bucky’s chest and he reluctantly picked it up and took a sip from the straw. Good, he was drinking.  “Is it any good?”

Bucky just kept sipping his latte. He assumed that meant ‘yes.’

 

 

The dock was full of people. The beginnings of the summer vacationers had arrived, so the tiny beach was filled with watchful mothers and screaming children, half of which were building sandcastles while the other half were running around in the tiny waves.

The benches were all in use, so Steve started toward the end of the dock so that they could sit there instead. The water was calm today, so there was no risk of getting their feet splashed on while they talked. Well, while Steve talked. It was finally warm enough to go swimming, Steve noted as they walked. It was about time he did more than just go on a run every morning. Swimming was not his strong suit, but once Tony had timed his freestyle and said he broke the world record right then and there. Steve didn’t really believe him, but it might have been true. He could outrun pretty much anyone these days, so why not outswim them too?

“Mind if we take a seat here?” Steve asked a family that was fishing on the end of the dock.

The father took a sip of his beer and motioned for them to go ahead and sit down.  Steve thanked him and with a bit of coaxing for Bucky, they were both sitting on the edge, Steve’s legs dangling over the side and Bucky’s curled up to his chest.

“I caught a fish,” a little boy said to Bucky. When Bucky didn’t even look at him, the kid walked up and stuck his face right up to Bucky’s. “I caught a fish, wanna see? I gots him in a bucket.”

Bucky glanced at him, but then returned his gaze back to the lake and started shivering. Steve frowned, tempted to just put an arm around Bucky and give him a hug or something to calm him down.

“I’d love to see your fish,” Steve said to the boy.

“I’ll go get him!”

“I caught a fish too!” the boy’s older sister called. She was probably ten, with sun streaked blonde hair, wearing gaudy pink-rimmed sunglasses and a blue ball cap.

“Yeah?” Steve couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm.

“Mine’s cooler!”

“No, mine’s cooler,” the little boy said, stumbling toward him with a white plastic bucket that had water sloshing out of the sides. Bucky flinched at the noise of the liquid hitting the cement.

“I’m sure their both cool,” Steve laughed. He peered into the bucket to see a bluegill swimming around, along with a chubby striped fish he didn’t recognize. It kind of reminded him of a bass, but had spikey dorsal fin bones. A trout maybe? He didn’t know fish very well. “You guys caught those all by yourselves?”

“Daddy helped him,” the little girl said. “But I caught mine all by myself. I named him Spotty, ‘cause he has the big spots on his flappers.”

“They’re called gills!” her brother made sure to say. “And I named mine Grass because he’s green like grass. See?”

“Yes, he sure is green all right.”

“Joe, Erin, leave him alone,” their father said. “If you leave your poles like that a big fish is gonna come steal ‘em away.’

That got both Joe and Erin to rush back to their tiny little fold out chairs, plopping the bucket down with a mighty slosh of water that almost had Spotty back in the lake. Steve felt bad for the poor fish, but fresh caught seafood certainly tasted better.

“Your friend all right?” the father asked, moving his sunglasses down his nose a bit to pointedly look at Bucky.

Steve gave a half smile and reached over to give Bucky’s back a rub. He was trembling enough for other people to notice now. “He’ll be okay. He’s recovering.”

“What from? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Bucky slowly closed his eyes, as though he were going to fall asleep. Steve took a sip of his frozen hot chocolate and turned back to the man. “War.”

The man nodded gravely. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“He’s uh, kinda been all over,” Steve replied. “Intelligence, Special Ops.” He hoped this wasn’t a conversation that would cause Bucky to react.

“Wow, that’s the big time stuff. My brother was a Marine. My wife wouldn’t let me join, but I’ve got a lotta buddies in the military. What about you?”

Steve shrugged. “I was in the army awhile back. Then got moved to, uh, more intelligence type of work.” He wasn’t sure what SHIELD would even be called.

“That how you two met?”

“No, no, we’ve been friends since we were kids. Just kinda happened that we ended up in the same career path, I guess. Huh, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes flew open, but flickered shut again a moment later, as if he’d just imagined hearing his name.

“Has…has he been like this since he came back?” the man asked as Erin and Joe started fighting about whether Spotty or Grass would win in a swimming race.

“He used to be a lot worse, but he’s come a long way,” Steve murmured, looking back out to the lake.

The man let out a long whistle. “Jeeze. And he lost his arm too.  Well,” the man leaned out a little to try and look at Bucky. “Thank you, man. You’ve probably saved this whole country a hundred times. If either of you ever want a beer, I live in the bright purple house by the nature trail. And before you ask, my wife picked that color.”

Steve was still glowing from the fact that this man had said thanks to Bucky for his service. It was easy to forget that Bucky really had saved the country more times than he could count—so many people only looked at his time with HYDRA when that wasn’t really Bucky at all. “Thanks,” he finally replied, smiling over at the man. “Maybe we’ll stop by sometime. We live in the apartments right across from the café.”

“The fancy ones, huh?”

The fancy ones. Steve and Bucky’s old living places would make the average American scream if they were to go back in time. Rats and roaches were regular visitors, and lice were a plague that never seemed to leave, though he and Bucky had stayed clear of them most of the time. Bucky had said it was because no lice liked to live with a guy who was sick all the time.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, I guess they are pretty nice, huh?” He looked at Bucky and carefully lifted his latte. “Hey, Buck, please drink your latte, okay? You gotta drink somethin’. You can put your legs down too. The sun’ll warm you up real quick.”

When Bucky didn’t move, Steve placed the latte next to his frozen hot chocolate and scooted closer until he was right up against Bucky’s side. He could feel his best friend trembling through his jacket and that clawed right at Steve’s heart.

“What are you scared of, Buck?” Steve whispered, trying to meet his eye. “There’s nothing to be scared of. You’re safe, you’re right here with me. I’m watching your back.” He reached up and carefully put his arm around his friend, conscious of a few curious eyes darting their way, but Steve didn’t care.  “Nothing’s coming. I wouldn’t take ya somewhere if I thought you were gonna get hurt. Try to relax.”

Bucky just squeezed his eyes shut, his metal arm whirring a little. Then, after a moment, he gradually relaxed, though he was gritting his teeth awfully hard as he did so. It was as if allowing himself to unfold from his ball was causing him physical pain.

Finally though, Bucky slid his feet over the edge of the pier, dangling his Nikes over the water.

“Great job, Buck,” Steve praised; giving his shoulder a firm rub before pulling his hand away to grab Bucky’s latte. “Here ya go, drink up. I paid four bucks for that, so you better,” he teased.

Bucky’s metal fingers clicked against the side of the paper cup as he took in his hand an brought it to his mouth to sip, his gaze now darting to the kids, the waves, and the people down the dock. He was on guard.

Steve let him go though, glad that he was at least sitting normally. Any progress was good progress in Steve’s mind.

Clearly, Erin and Joe were causing Bucky the most distress. Every time one of them shrieked that they got a bite or argued about Spotty and Grass, Bucky went rigid. Steve made a note not to bring him to the dock so early in the morning next time.

Steve finished his frozen hot chocolate pretty quickly and Bucky finished his latte soon after, wordlessly handing it over to Steve when he was done. When Bucky was quiet, it was a lot harder to tell if he was really being himself. The Winter Soldier had adopted many of Bucky’s expressions and isms. However, Steve was confident that this was indeed the real Bucky—the way he examined everything was different than the Winter Soldier.  Bucky actually looked at things, whereas the Winter Soldier only identified what was a threat and what could be made into one.

An hour later and Bucky looked exhausted.  Dark circles were forming around his eyes and his lids were drooping ever so slightly after each time he blinked. It was time to go home. And probably time to fix lunch.

Steve stood and took Bucky’s metal hand to help him up.

“You guys headed out?” Joe and Erin’s father asked, turning around in his lawn chair.

“Yeah,” Steve said, extending a hand. “It was nice to talk to you. I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

The man took his hand and gave it a shake. “My name’s Dan, by the way. “

“Steve. And that’s Bucky,” he said with a nod to where Bucky was standing.

“Whooa!” Joe cried out, running over to Bucky. “Is your arm made a metal? That’s _awesome_!”

“I wanna see, I wanna see!” Erin exclaimed, running right after her brother.

Joe grabbed Bucky’s hand, lifting it up to inspect it and see if it really was made of metal. Bucky tightly gripped the crook of his metal arm with his flesh hand, extremely uncomfortable and wide-eyed.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Dan beat him to it.

“Hey! Joe! Erin! What do you think you’re doing?” Both Erin and Joe ducked their heads, quickly backing away.

“Sorry,” they both murmured in unison.

“You ask before you go grabbing people’s arms, you hear me?” Dan scolded.

“It is metal though,” Steve said with a smile to the kids, then a reassuring one to Bucky.

“Um,” Joe said, stutter-stepping up to Bucky. “Is it okay if I look at it? I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to, promise.”

Steve stepped in, crouching down to be more on Joe’s level. “Bucky and I have to go get lunch now, Joe. He isn’t feeling too—“

A metal palm slowly came between them and Steve looked up to see Bucky looking right down at little Joe.

Steve stood up, surprised but delighted. Joe carefully put a hand on the base of Bucky’s palm, then grabbed his thumb and turned his hand around to the other side. running his tiny fingers along the ridges in the metal.

“Can you move your fingers?” Joe asked, and Erin had crept up behind him, peeking over his shoulder to look.

Bucky flexed his fingers, startling a yelp from both of them. Then, fascination.

“That is so cool,” Joe murmured, tapping the ends of Bucky’s fingers. “I bet you’re super strong.”

“He is super strong,” Steve said with a smile, playfully nudging Bucky’s shoulder with his own. For once Bucky didn’t look nervous or reserved, he just looked like his usual self as the children examined his hand. Had anyone known what that hand had done, they wouldn’t have been so fascinated by it, but Steve was glad they didn’t know. They got to see Bucky for what he really was.

“Okay, you two,” Dan said, ruffling Joe’s hair. “That’s enough. We’ve got fish to catch. What do you say?’

“Thank you,” came the simultaneous reply.

Steve grinned and Bucky moved his metal hand back to his side. “We’ll see you guys later,” Steve said. “Good luck catching your fish.”

When he and Bucky were further down the dock, Steve heard a shaky sigh to his right. Bucky was looking down at his metal hand with a melancholy expression as he walked, flexing his palm. Steve wasn’t entirely sure how Bucky felt about that arm, or how _he_ really felt about that arm. But it was part of Bucky now.

In that moment, Steve decided he wasn’t going to think about that arm as a part of HYDRA anymore. It was Bucky’s arm and that was all it was.

“That little guy was right, you know,” Steve said as they passed under the bell tower overhang over the start of the dock. Bucky looked over at him, more aware than he’d been in the beginning of the day.  “Your arm is really cool.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but he did give him a good shove with that same metal arm, knocking Steve sideways and nearly sending him tumbling to the ground.

It wasn’t a smile, but it was damn good enough for Steve.


	13. Chapter 13

The fog of shock was finally lifting from Bucky’s mind, slowly but surely. Steve saw the way he finally started coming back to the world, the tiny parts of him that were crawling back into his being. No words had yet spilled from Bucky’s mouth, but he wasn’t as scared of everything anymore. A week after the train incident and he was still keeping close to Steve, but wasn’t staring off into space as much.

One new thing that Steve had found out was that Bucky had an addiction to Froot Loops. They were pure sugar, basically, and the only reason Steve had got them was because sugary cereal made a good post-workout snack.  But one morning Bucky had pulled them out of the cupboard and poured himself a bowl. Ever since, they were a Bucky Breakfast staple, along with a cup of coffee. Steve didn’t understand it—they really didn’t taste that good—but he never said anything about it except for the occasional teasing comment about how Bucky was probably going to get sick if he ate that much sugar.

Each day after lunch, they had gone back to the dock so that Bucky could relax. Staying indoors for too long made him antsy, just like it had when they were younger. Exploring was where Bucky felt most comfortable, even if Steve caught him searching rooftops for snipers and tensing up every time they rounded a corner that they couldn’t see around.

The townsfolk were glad to see them out more and Steve had noticed that there was an unusually large collection of old ladies on the docks every afternoon, usually sitting in the benches off to one side, leaving plenty of room for two young men to have a seat beside them. Usually they didn’t, but a few days they had. Bucky particularly liked Mary, at least, that was what it had seemed like to Steve. She never once made mention that his arm was metal, or that he wasn’t speaking. She just talked to Steve and told stories about her teenage years.

Most days though, Steve and Bucky sat on whatever side of the dock was calmest, their legs hooked over the edge. Steve had started all the way back in the beginning of their friendship—or what he could remember of it—and told every story he knew. He talked about the war and what had happened to him and what had happened to Bucky. The HYDRA experiments. The way Steve had found him strapped to a chair and how Bucky had remembered who he was right off the bat.

All the while, Bucky looked out over the lake, quietly mulling over Steve’s every word.

Steve told him what he knew about HYDRA. There wasn’t a lot in Bucky’s file, except that he was found with a mangled arm, only ruined below the elbow. But the HYDRA scientists had created a full arm, one that would punch stronger than just a forearm, so they cut off the whole thing at the shoulder.

“Maybe you remember all of this and I’m just talking to myself here, but maybe not. And if this is gonna help you come back, then I’m going to tell everything to you,” Steve said.

He explained that HYDRA had trained him to be a master assassin. Every modern technological advance was installed into Bucky’s brain, every physical skill built upon the ones he already had. Knives, guns, grenades—all of them were part of Bucky’s extensive list of weapons that he had mastered.

And then he talked about DC. About seeing Bucky again for the first time without even realizing it and getting shot three times because Bucky had always been the one person who saw past the shield and saw the man behind it and aimed for him instead. He explained that they parted ways after Bucky dragged him from the water and it wasn’t until a few months ago in Istanbul that they found each other again.

That night was the first night Bucky didn’t crawl into bed with him. Steve checked on him multiple times throughout the night, but Bucky had slept soundly all the way through, snuggled up against the back of his futon.

The next morning after breakfast, Steve had gone out to get coffee when his cell phone rang. It was Sam.

“Hello?” Steve said after apologizing profusely to Heather for answering the phone while he was ordering.

“Steve!” Sam greeted. What’s up, my man?”

Heather knew what he wanted, so she started making the drinks with a smile as Steve pulled some crumpled ones from his wallet. “Nothing much, really. Bucky’s doing better though.”

“Hey, that’s awesome. He talking yet?”

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, the only hint of his worry. “Not yet. Close though. He’s all here, you know? Now I just have to wait before he starts talking again.”

“Well he better start talking soon ‘cause all of us over here are makin’ bets. My window ends in two days, then it’s Stark’s, so you better get him talking within the next two days, all right?”

Steve laughed, trying to imagine who all was involved in this little wager. “I’ll try my best.”

“We’re all rooting for you over here, even Natasha tries to check up when she can.”

He really did have amazing friends. Bruce had told him his reports on Bucky’s condition would probably be leaked to them because Tony didn’t like being out of the loop when it concerned his childhood hero and his best bud. Steve didn’t mind one bit.

“Well tell everyone I say thanks.”

“Hate to say it, but that’s not the only reason I’m callin’.”

Steve hadn’t expected it to be. His mission here with Bucky wasn’t interrupted just for catching up, even with Sam Wilson, who was probably writing a diary so Steve could read up on the dailies of his life when they got back to the real world. If they ever did return to New York.  “That’s okay, Sam. What’s going on?”

“Someone took a picture of Bucky the other day, on a dock. With you. We located it pretty quick, but there’s a chance that people could have seen it before it was taken down. “

To be perfectly honest, Steve hadn’t even thought about what would happen if their picture was taken. They weren’t using fake names in this little town, mostly because Steve would be furious with himself if it caused Bucky to come back and think his name was something else. “Shit,” he cursed, because that was how angry he was that he hadn’t been more careful.

“Whoa there, Potty Mouth,” Sam laughed. “I’m just telling you so that you’re aware. You don’t need to change what you’re doing. Don’t cover up Bucky’s arm or anything like that. You were sent there so that both of your could be yourselves. It’s a gated community, so we’re monitoring all the traffic coming in before anyone even gets past the old fart at the gate, understand?”

“I’m not gonna put him in danger. If someone’s coming after him—“

“We’ll know about it first. This ain’t Pierce anymore, we actually got a guy with a brain this time. You got Stark, me, Natasha, and Hawkface all watchin’ out for you. If something is comin’ or might be comin’, then we’re gonna come over and make sure everything’s cool.”

“And what if someone slips through the cracks?”

“If someone slips through the cracks, then that guy’s a human. You can beat up twenty humans with an arm tied behind your back. I’m not worried about that.”

Steve wasn’t sure he could trust that. If someone took Bucky again they were going to undo all of the progress he’d been spending months on. Bucky could easily be stripped down to the hateful Winter Soldier again. Steve was not going to allow that to happen.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“So you can trust me to carry your heavy ass while I’m wearing a couple ‘a weird lookin’ jetpack wings, but you can’t trust me to keep a vacation town on lockdown?”

Sam had a point there. “Okay, okay,” Steve said, grabbing the coffees and flashing an apologetic smile at Heather as he paid. “I trust you. But please call me if something like this happens again, okay?”

“Duh,” Sam said. “You’d probably find a way to strangle me with some patriotic version of the Force if I didn’t.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, let’s go with that. But you should come visit once Bucky gets back to normal a little more. I’m sure we could find a bingo game around here somewhere,” he teased.

“Yeah, bingo beat-your-ass. You need to play more poker, ‘cause you suck, man.”

“Fine, we’ll play poker. You can bring everyone and we’ll play a big game.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Sam said. “You better get ready, ‘cause you’re about to lose whatever you put into this game.”

“We’ll see,” Steve said with a smirk.

“We’ll see? Dammit, it’s on now. I was gonna go easy on you, but you just dug your own grave, Cap.”

He forgot how much he missed having Sam around. “Looking forward to it. I’ll catch ya later, Sam.”

“Sounds good. Peace.”

Steve hung up the phone, awkwardly maneuvering it from the crook of his neck into his hand in a way everyone else seemed to have perfected except for him. Oh well, he couldn’t learn everything about the 21st century, he supposed. Talking on a cell phone and knowing how to hang it up was an accomplishment in itself—one that had taken quite a bit of training.

Talking with Sam put Steve in an excellent mood as he checked the mailbox. They never got any mail, but there was the occasional postcard if one of the Avengers went on a trip. The last one had been from Florida, from Tony, but that was weeks ago.

No mail.

Steve took a sip of his coffee (he had decided to try a cappuccino today) and headed for the stairs. Even now when he walked up them he remembered Bucky there, waiting as patiently as Bucky Barnes was capable of doing while Steve limped his way up step by step. Now he hopped right up without breaking a sweat.

Steve opened the door with the only two fingers he could spare between holding his phone and two coffee cups. Thankfully, they lived in the “fancy apartments,” so the doors opened easily and weren’t bowed at the bottom like every place Steve had lived before the war. It still surprised him when a door opened easily, even when he walked into stores.

“Buck, I brought back coffee,” Steve called as he headed for the dinette.  The flat was a little bit dark—they still relied on sunlight to keep the place lit. Of course, they had electricity in the forties, but the apartments they were used to living in had electricity that maybe worked for four hours a day. It usually wasn’t until they were squinting to see things that Steve remembered it was probably going to work if he flicked on the lights.

But in the morning, it was plenty bright just depending on the sun.

After setting Bucky’s coffee on the table, Steve went in search of the cookies he’d bought the day before. They hadn’t been opened yet, and they were the shortbread kind with the chocolate on the bottom. He was probably going to end up eating a whole sleeve with his coffee even though he’d just had breakfast. Steve wasn’t _always_ a healthy eater.

Once he’d found the cookies, he tossed the box onto the table and returned to his phone, following Sam’s directions in his head to play the big band music playlist that Coulson had put together for him some time ago _(“These are just my favorites, of course. I researched all of them—some came after you, but I thought they fit. Please let me know if you’d like them changed.”_ ).

He selected the “shuffle” option—that always made him think of dancing—and set down his phone on the table, pulling over the newspaper. Soon enough, brass instruments filled the little dining space as he read over the sports section.

 

_“Don’t call it love if it’s just a fling,_

_A kiss, a sigh, and farewell._

_Don’t call it love, if it’s not the thing,_

_That’s strong enough to start an earthquake in your heart…”_

 

Steve was just about to flip the page when he noticed someone in the doorway. He looked up to see Bucky standing there, but he didn’t look distant like he usually did when he was still. They stared at each other for a moment; Steve trying to gauge what was going on with his best friend and Bucky just staring.

The moment Bucky’s bottom lip started to quiver just a little, Steve’s chair was scraping against the wood floor as he rushed over to his best friend.

He pulled Bucky to his chest in a firm embrace, hugging him tight, his chin hooked over Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re safe,” he soothed, rubbing Bucky’s back the way Bucky had rubbed his that time he finally broke down about his mom. “You’re safe.”

This time, Bucky’s arms came up around him too, metal and flesh pressing lines below his shoulder blades, squeezing his ribcage just right.  Steve knew there were probably tears tracking down Bucky’s cheeks, but he wasn’t shaking with sobs like he had before during his nightmare. This was the real Bucky, the one who refused to cry unless he thought no one was looking.

Steve didn’t remember being hugged this tight by anyone since the time he thought he’d never see Bucky again on one of their stealth missions in France. That was months before Bucky actually left him for good, or so he thought. He was so happy that he’d been wrong about that.

“Thank you.”

Steve froze, blinking stupidly until he fully registered that Bucky had just spoken for the first time in a solid week.

“Thank you,” Bucky croaked a second time. “For not giving up on me. Even when you shoulda.”

Steve squeezed him a little tighter, wishing he could drive out all of the pain he heard in that voice. “Never woulda dreamed it, Buck. You woulda done the same for me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky rasped. “Except not nearly as good.”

Steve laughed pitifully as tears welled up in his eyes. Bucky was here. Bucky was back. He tried to keep himself from crying like a fool in the middle of the kitchen, but he was just so happy, so relieved. Finally, something had gone right for them. “Right,” he said shakily. “You woulda done better. You always did.”

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics: "Don't Call It Love" from the film "I Walk Alone" (1948)


	14. Chapter 14

Their heartfelt reunion or sorts didn’t last very long. Steve knew that Bucky didn’t enjoy dwelling on the bad stuff—and that was probably the only reason that he and Steve were still such good friends. There had been plenty of bad stuff that had happened in Steve’s life, but since both of them just took it one step at a time, they were never dragged down by it. Not too much, anyway.

“So what’s this thing called again?” Bucky asked, picking up his coffee and inspecting the lid.

“A latte,” Steve replied with a smile. Of course they would talk about coffee right off the bat. Nothing serious, like whether or not Bucky had any memories since the train. “And mine’s a cappuccino.”

“Cap-poo-chi-no,” Bucky said slowly, testing the word out on his tongue. He took a sip of his coffee through the little slot in the lid and smacked his lips. Steve watched his face to see whether or not he liked it. Then, a shrug. “Not too bad. Is there caramel in this thing?”

“Yeah, it’s a caramel latte. Same one I’ve been getting every morning for you.”

Bucky tongued the inside of his cheek for a moment, then nodded slowly. “So that’s why it tastes so boring.”

“Hey!” Steve laughed. “You drank it, so I wasn’t going to mess with that. You weren’t exactly talking either, so I didn’t get you anything different.”

Bucky put up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa now, punk, I’m just sayin’. I ain’t accusin’.” He took the seat across from Steve on the table, taking another sip of his coffee.

Steve’s curiosity was going to kill him, so he decided to be the one to turn the conversation to a more serious one. Just like old times when he asked if they were going to have enough money for rent or to try and see if he could buy a few more colored pencils for art class. “Buck, you remember anything from before?”

Metal fingers uncapped the lid on Bucky’s coffee before placing it down on the table. Bucky didn’t answer right away, instead staring into the light brown of his coffee. “Before what?”

“Before the train,” Steve said gently.

Bucky met his eyes and they were heavy blue stones in his sockets. “Gonna have to be more specific.”

Right. “Last week, on the farm.”

A long sip of coffee. Bucky licked his lips and set the cup back down on the table. “Yeah. Only parts I don’t remember are from way back. Before, uh….no.” His brow furrowed. “I remember a lotta stuff, but there’s pieces missing, ya know? I remember wakin’ up with this thing,” he moved his metal arm, ”and I remember…Jesus, I remember a lot.”

Bucky didn’t have to say it for Steve to know what he was thinking about. “It’s okay, Buck. None of that stuff was you. It was the Winter Soldier, it was what HYDRA put in your head to make you into a monster.”

The second the word left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said it. Hurt flickered in Bucky’s eyes and his fingers all twitched at once. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

“Hey,” Steve soothed. “We’ll work it out, okay?”

“I was a real jerk to ya, huh?” Bucky said, ignoring his tone. “Throwin’ you around and all that.”

“The Winter Soldier was a real jerk, yeah,” Steve said evenly. “Not—“

Bucky gave him a look, the same look he’d given when Steve had triumphantly showed him his forged enlistment papers. “We’re the same.”

He bit down on the inside of his lip for a moment. “No, you aren’t.”

“Jesus, Rogers, yes we are,” Bucky argued. “I’m tellin’ ya that we’re the same person.”

“I can tell when it’s him,” Steve said firmly. “I can tell the difference. You would never do the things he did. You’d never look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Bucky asked, squeezing his eyes shut. “Like this?” His eyes blew open again and they were wild, full of electricity and anger and all of the things Bucky wasn’t.

But it was Bucky. It wasn’t, but it _was_.  Steve leaned away, blinking stupidly as Bucky leaned over across the table.

“Is this what you’re talkin’ about?” Bucky demanded again. “Huh?”

Steve turned his gaze away as his throat closed up. Bucky did this, he never advanced on him like he was going to hurt him, or demanded he answer like that. Even when he had been furious with Steve for trying to risk jail to get enlisted, he’d just yelled for awhile, but not at him. This wasn’t like Bucky at all.

Silence wedged its way between them and after a few moments, Bucky slumped back into his seat, crossing his arms and putting his head down on the table.

Maybe expecting Bucky to be the same was too much to ask, Steve thought. He’d been so sure it would happen. Bucky would be back to himself, impossibly strong, happy, aloof about life’s troubles. Even during the war he’d kicked back a few shots of whiskey and spent the night going over the next day’s plans until he fell asleep on the table, sometimes still laughing in his sleep.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time, quietly.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I never should have assumed—“

“Steve, it’s my fault. Gettin’ all worked up like that never shoulda happened. All you’ve been doin’ for me…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for scarin’ ya like that.”

Steve gave him a weak smile. “It’s okay, you’re forgiven. I never should have expected you to be exactly the same guy from the war, either. That wasn’t right.” Even as he said it though, he could still feel it in his blood that that was his expectation. “I’m sorry.”

“No sweat,” Bucky said lightly, reaching over the table with is flesh hand to ruffle his hair. “I’m workin’ through it, okay? But I’m not gonna be the same. Just like you aren’t the same.”

Steve swallowed, hurt prickling in his chest. Had he changed that much? That was never his intention. At all. He had tried to stay exactly the same—be the guy that Bucky had been so proud of during the war.

Of course, Bucky saw it right away. “Hey, I didn’t mean that in a bad way. You’re still a punk kid, you just got more meat on ya. Nothin’ about you is bad, ya hear me? Nothin’.”

Steve gave a small smile, even if he didn’t exactly believe him.

“How bout after you finish that cappuchini, we get on those bikes and go somewhere, huh?” Bucky said around the rim of his coffee cup before taking a swallow.

He chuckled. “I dunno, last time I saw you on a bike, I thought you might tip it over.”

A smile curled on Bucky’s lips. “Last time I was on a bike, I was scared shitless ‘cause my best friend almost let me get run over by a train.”

Steve didn’t take offense to that, he knew this was how Bucky patched up wounds, especially Steve’s. Make a joke about something miserable, and it’s not so bad anymore.

“So, whaddaya say?”

Steve smiled. “Okay. But if you wreck that bike, I’m gonna use your arm for parts.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Steve.” A pause. “Stevie.” Another pause. “Rogers, get your ass outta bed.”

Steve’s brow furrowed and he rolled over, lazily opening one eye to see Bucky crouched by his bed. This wasn’t the first time this had happened since Bucky’s return, and he knew if he didn’t get moving he was going to be tackled off the mattress.

“What time is it?” he slurred, burying his face back into the pillow.

“Six. How late were you up last night?” Bucky asked, his tone turning towards concerned. Ever worried about Steve keeling over.

“Mm,” he grunted, reluctantly lifting his head. He’d been going through SHIELD records for information about Aleksandr Nikov, an ex-HYDRA operative that vanished after the SHIELD discovery. So far, Steve hadn’t come up with much of anything about him, which he was slowly figuring out was the point. They were trying to keep him busy and not solely occupied with Bucky.

“Cahman, how later were you up?”

“Three. Thirty,” he added. “I’m just gonna sleep a little longer.”

“Those old ladies are gonna beat us out at the Farmer’s Market if you don’t get up. You can take a nap later.”

Right, it was Saturday. For some reason, the town’s Farmer’s Market was the weekly spectacle. Old women screamed at each other over fresh spinach dip and old men barked about yams and strawberries. It was quite the event.

“Go get your cucumbers and blueberries and I’ll stay in bed. Promise not to die,” Steve muttered. Interrupting his necessary four hours wasn’t the best thing to do.

“They got watermelons this week,” Bucky taunted, as if that was going to rouse him from bed. The watermelon was always heavenly though. Really heavenly.

Steve sighed. “Fine.” He didn’t want to get up, but there was a part of him that just couldn’t turn down an offer of adventure from Bucky Barnes.

“There ya go,” Bucky grinned, ruffling his hair. “Whaddya want for breakfast?”

With a yawn, Steve sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. “I dunno. I’ll cook up some eggs or somethin’.”

The longer he was with Bucky, the more his old accent returned.

“How come you never eat cereal like a normal guy, huh?” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“That stuff is all sugar,” Steve said indignantly. “It’s—“

“Really unhealthy for ya, I know,” Bucky huffed. “Not like it would do us any harm though. Might be good to knock a few years off.”

The future wasn’t something Steve really liked to think about. He technically lived in his version of ‘the future’ right now, but it scared him when he thought about how he would probably outlive all of his friends. He wasn’t immortal and neither was Bucky, but there was no telling how long they would live on Earth. How many life times they would have to live through together, watching their old friends wither and die as new ones took their place.

He shuffled his way into the kitchen with Bucky at his heels, talking about how the Seafood Grill was where they should go for dinner because he hadn’t tried the coconut shrimp yet.

The conversation about shrimp continued as Steve started scrambling his eggs and Bucky pulled the jumbo box of Froot Loops from the pantry and poured himself a heaping bowl.

Maybe it was because of his long hair, or the glint of his metal arm in the shafts of light in the kitchen, but sometimes Steve had to pause what he was doing just to see if the Winter Soldier was making a return. Two weeks had passed since Bucky came back to him and they had slipped into that state or normalcy that Steve had known his entire life before the war. Time breathed freely and it didn’t feel like anything was too rushed or too slow. They did boring things like going to the Farmer’s Market every Saturday at an ungodly hour, getting coffee every morning unless it was raining (only Steve was trusted to make coffee then, after Bucky had burned it—something Steve had been sure was impossible) and they visited the dock almost every day, or walked the foot path that overlooked the lake.

But sometimes he saw the Winter Soldier and his chest clenched up a little. Not because he hated him…just the opposite really. He hadn’t realized that he liked the Winter Soldier’s fierce personality and confidence. Bucky was confident, as always, but not in the same way he had been. They used to knock each other around all the time: shoving, play punches, and the ol’ Bucky slinging an arm around his neck and yanking him in for a side hug.

Now Steve saw hesitation in his eyes at every turn, the way an abused animal approached an area it had been hurt in before. He _never_ touched Steve with his metal hand unless it was on accident and his throat tightened at moments where he would usually cuff Steve over the head.

The Winter Soldier had his own kid of affection—every moment he hadn’t slit Steve’s throat or punched him in the jaw was a showing of trust. Steve found that he missed that part of Bucky. Maybe it was still there somewhere, where Bucky felt that he and the Winter Soldier were still connected.

They never spoke about it, though. Steve knew his best friend and he certainly knew enough to not say anything unless Bucky brought it up. They did talk about his memories from time to time, but very rarely the ones concerning HYDRA.

“Hey, are they callin’ milk silk now?” Bucky asked, jarring Steve from his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh.” He laughed as Bucky spooned up some Froot Loops. “No, no, it’s Silk. A brand name. You’re drinking almond milk.”

Bucky actually choked on his cereal, hiccupping and rushing to the sink to spit out what was in his mouth. Alarm spiked up Steve’s spine and he left his eggs to put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Buck, are you okay?”

“Fuck no I’m not okay!” Bucky spat. “ _Almond milk_? The fuck is almond milk?!?”

Steve burst out laughing. “It’s healthier for you—milk isn’t like it used to be. Doesn’t even taste the same.”

Bucky dragged his mouth over the back of his hand as if he were wiping off traces of poison. “It’s not milk if it ain’t from a cow! Jesus! I’ve been drinkin’ that stuff for how many weeks? Shit!”

Steve couldn’t stop laughing, patting Bucky on the back as he straightened up again. “Sorry. You never complained about it, so it’s not my fault!”

“How was I s’posed to know? I thought maybe milk just tasted like shit nowadays or somethin’!” He wiped his mouth again. “Almond milk…fuckin’ _almond_ milk. Can’t milk an almond.”

“We can get regular milk after the Farmer’s Market,” Steve said, still chuckling. “Want some eggs in the meantime?”

A yelp escaped him when Bucky elbowed him in the ribs with the metal arm. A rare move.

“Don’t ask me if I want eggs, Rogers,” Bucky said with a smirk, snatching the pan from him. “But I appreciate you cookin’ these ones up for me.”

Steve did feel kinda bad about unintentionally tricking him, so he didn’t argue. Instead, he rolled his eyes and took Bucky’s abandoned bowl of Froot Loops in hand. Wasting food was never something Steve Rogers would be caught doing. Another old habit.

Bucky stared down at his eggs and Steve’s chewing slowed. He knew that look now—a new one that always came before Bucky brought up the past.

“You ever think about that kid?” he asked, using the spatula to fold over the bright yellow and white mound of eggs in the pan.

Steve swallowed his overly-sugary spoonful of cereal. “What kid, Buck?”

“The one in the flowers.”

Steve’s jaw twisted and he immediately looked down at the floor.

They had been on foot in Germany, hiking through farmland toward a German position that was supposedly a cover for HYDRA operations. The sun was hot on their backs, the only cover provided by the shade of the occasional cloud. Steve had been in the back of the group with Bucky, letting the rest of the Howlers lead the way until the next town. Much like their walk home in Austria, the countryside was beautiful. Cows grazed lazily on the long pasture grasses, and yellow rapeseed flowers blanketed everywhere else, with the occasional smattering of white or violet.

Bucky had spotted it first. A boot, still laced up, sticking from a thicket of yellow flowers. He remembered Bucky signaling him over and he remembered expecting to find something like a lost puppy or a fawn—both of which had been found in similar places before.

Steve had been the one to make the mistake of moving the flowers out of the way to get a better look. Both of them had known it was going to be a body, yet they had still looked.

A boy—he couldn’t have been old enough to be called a man—was lying there in the grass, just as scrawny as Steve had been before the serum. He had strawberry blonde hair with a bit of a wave to it from what they could see. His eyes were closed peacefully, but his face was grotesquely twisted. His right cheekbone was gone, replaced with a blackened hole that had chewed up most of the right side of his face. A few of his teeth had been blown out and sunk into the roof of his mouth, all of it caked in brown, dry blood.

But his eyes were closed and calm.

His throat was partially blown open, displaying the frets of his trachea for both Steve and Bucky to stare at. A medic had evidently tried to save him, as his ripped open shirt had exposed a torso riddled with holes that had been stuffed with gauze that had done him no good.

He still had a morphine spike in his leg from where the doc had tried to make death easier.

His whole body—jacket, shirt, hands—had been absolutely coated in dried blood that had cracked in the sun, almost masking the index and middle fingers that had been blown clean off.

 _“Probably just takin’ a smoke,”_ Bucky had said.

They could have stopped and given him a proper burial, and maybe they should have, but the gentle whisperings of swaying rapeseed around the body was a more peaceful sight than a mound of dirt would have been. So they paid their respects and left him where his company had.

The boy in the flowers.

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about that,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky scooped his eggs onto a plate, not looking at him. “I know. But sometimes I think if we don’t, no one’s gonna.”

The boy in the flowers had affected Bucky much more than it had affected Steve that much had been obvious right from the bat.  He remembered finding him with a yellow flower in his hands, staring at it and gritting his teeth so tight Steve had thought his lower jaw might just crack in half. “Buck,” Steve murmured. “He had a family. He had friends.”

“But maybe he didn’t,” Bucky countered a little sharply. “Maybe his dad drank himself to death and dragged his ol’ lady down with him.  Maybe he only had one buddy who wasn’t blood so he never got the letter. Coulda come back from the war and ran home to see his pal ‘cept his pal never showed.” His eyes closed. “And now that fella’s gotta spend the rest of his days not knowin’ where to find his best friend. Not knowin’ what happened to him.”

Steve set down his bowl of cereal with a small _clunk_. Now he could smell the sickly sweet reeking of the boy in the flowers, feel the sun on his skin every time he blinked. Bile started to rise in his throat, but he put his hand on Bucky’s back anyway, fighting through. He wouldn’t throw up.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” he said weakly. “Please.” His fingers curled into Bucky’s shirt, trying to make him understand.

“Okay,” Bucky said, turning to him and fondly ruffling his hair this time. “Okay.” His fingers stopped, then slid out of Steve’s hair altogether and came over his shoulder to pull him in for a hold.

Steve rested his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to relax. He’d forgotten about the boy in the flowers. Just like everyone else, maybe. It made his eyes sting and he had to fight to control his breaths. “I don’t wanna talk about the boy in the flowers anymore,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, patting his back and then rubbing. “I’m sorry, Stevie.”

Steve shook his head. “I needed to remember.” He tried to collect himself and put on a weak smile, trying to be happy. “Come on,” he sniffed. “Let’s eat so we can get down there before the old ladies do.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s exactly what we’re gonna do, ‘kay? I won’t talk about that kinda stuff, promise.”

“It’s really okay,” Steve mumbled, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I just wasn’t ready to remember that. It’s not your fault.”

“Everything’s my fault with you,” Bucky said affectionately. “No matter what, it’s always my job to save you from gettin’ sad.”

A pathetic laugh spilled from his lips and he nodded. “Not so much any more though, huh?”

Bucky snorted. “You kiddin’ me? You can’t even get outta bed in the morning. I’m workin’ more than ever. You’re drinkin’ almond milk for fuck’s sake!”

Steve sniffed again, glad he hadn’t actually started crying, though his eyes did burn. He was afraid to breathe and smell that flowery rot, afraid to open his eyes and see charred muscle and bloated, sallow skin that had been punched open with molten lead. “I’m still a softie, I guess,” he chuckled sadly.

He moved to step away from Bucky, but his friend grabbed him by the shoulders to look him square in the eye.

“If there’s ever a day where you aren’t gettin’ soft on me, I’m gonna be real worried,” Bucky murmured, lifting his flesh hand to lightly knock Steve on the head the way he used to when Steve was wearing his mask. Steve nodded quickly, his mouth quirking up into something that wasn’t a smile, but wasn’t quite a frown either.

“Hey, look at me,” Bucky said quietly.

Reluctantly, Steve looked at him, still debating whether or not he was actually going to be able to quell his nausea. Bucky’s eyes were gentle, his brow slightly creased with concern, and there was only the smallest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.

“All these people want you to be somebody who doesn’t need fixin’.” Bucky gave a miniscule shake of his head. “That ain’t right. That ain’t you, either. You fixed me up, now we’re gonna fix each other up. Just like always. You get the shit beat outta ya, I beat the shit outta them. I patch you up, then you patch me up. Just like that.”

An actual smile formed on Steve’s lips then. Only Bucky knew how he ticked, what it took to drive right out of his sadness and back to something sweet. There was that feeling in his chest again, the one that oozed out through his bloodstream and made him warm all over.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll be just like that.”


	15. Chapter 15

By Tuesday, all of the cucumbers, blueberries, and watermelon had been eaten. The Farmer’s Market had been as entertaining as last week’s, with several old out-of-towners getting blindsided by locals when they tried to purchase grass-fed beef from the stand that only came once a month. It ended it a lot a cursing and an old man yelling the ear off of the young, bewildered boy who happened to be standing at the beef booth at the time.

“Did you see the new boat at the docks?” Bucky asked as they headed back from the pier. The wind was kicking up and there were dark clouds looming. A fierce summer storm was on its way.

“No, I didn’t,” Steve said. “How’d it look?” It wasn’t often that a new boat showed up.

“Swanky as hell,” Bucky replied, eyebrows raised in approval. “ ‘Course, I haven’t been around many boats since Brooklyn, but it’s a nice one.”

“Probably came in to escape the storm,” Steve said with a shrug. They lived in a small town—something like a new boat at the docks was something that the whole community would know about by tomorrow. They would also know who owned it, how much money they had, and if the neighborhood ladies thought they were a nice person.

Bucky laughed. “Look at me, talkin’ about a new boat. Next thing ya know it’ll be me sluggin’ it out at the Farmer’s Market.”

The image of Bucky punching out an old lady had Steve cracking up in a second. “Yeah, you’d finally be up against a good match.”

“Take that back, ya punk!”

“No way, I’m being serious,” Steve teased. “I think you might have a chance, honest.”

He was purposely taunting Bucky, trying to see if—

Bucky’s metal arm lifted, poised for a shove, then paused. He dropped it to his side with a lopsided smirk that didn’t hide the shame in his eyes.  “You’re just a real jerk,” he said lightly.

Steve gave him a light shove. If Bucky wasn’t going to do it, he was. “Am not.”

“You forget I’m not afraid to punch ya, now. You won’t break in half anymore,” Bucky warned, but he was only poking fun. Bucky probably couldn’t so much as cuff him over the head without worrying about Steve having a concussion.

A low rumble of thunder made everyone on the street pause for a moment, then start hurrying back to their houses a little faster. Steve looked up at the darkening sky and frowned.

“Looks bad,” he murmured.

“Eh, probably not that bad. Couple minutes of hard stormin’, then it’ll rain for awhile.” Bucky cocked his head. “Hey, didn’t you say you were gonna help Mary move her old fridge today?”

“Oh no,” Steve groaned. Yesterday he’d offered to help Mary with her new fridge, since he was probably the most capable person in the town to do so.  There was probably still time to get it wherever it needed to be before the rain came. If he hurried, that is. “You’re right. I should probably get over there, huh?”

“Want me to help out?” Bucky offered.

Steve shook his head. “Nah. Shouldn’t take long. I’ll pick up some burgers for lunch on the way back, unless you wanted to make something.”

Bucky shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix up somethin’.”

“Froot Loops aren’t a good lunch, Buck,” Steve chuckled.

“I’ll eat whatever I damn well please, Captain Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “All right. Well, I’ll see ya at the apartment in a few.”

“If you need help, just let me know. Don’t get crushed,” Bucky teased.

“Right. I’ll try not to.”

Steve waved goodbye and started jogging toward Mary’s block. Bucky made sure to call out a teasing “Don’t be scared of the big storm, Stevie!” before he was out of view, trailed by another low growl from the sky.

 

 

It wasn’t difficult to find Mary’s house—it was a bright pink with a hand painted sign that read “The Blushing Bride”. Most houses had names in this little town; mostly so that renters would remember the name and rent again. Steve supposed that it had caught on to regular townsfolk too, as Mary said she only rented out her house one week of the year to a family she knew from Kentucky.

“Oh good!” Mary exclaimed from her screen porch before Steve could even knock. “I’m so glad you remembered! I wanted to get it moved before all of the rain.” She hurried over to unlatch the door. “It’s right in here. Thank you so much for doing this, by the way. I have some money for you in here on the table.”

Steve shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am. I’m glad to do it.”

“Nonsense, I’m not letting you do this out of the goodness of your heart,” Mary scolded.

“I’m not gonna take any money from you, ma’am. It’s just a fridge.”

He stepped onto the porch, just as there was another rumble of thunder. There was an odd collection of white wicker furniture and a few longhaired tabby cats sprawled out on a glass coffee table. Both of them eyed him suspiciously, but he wasn’t enough of a threat to warrant them getting up from their spots.

The fridge sat in the corner of the porch, but it actually didn’t look out of place. It was a fridge that reminded him of one he might’ve had when he came back from the war. Light blue, with chrome handles.

Steve had only done a bit of research into the fifties—it was bittersweet for him. He wasn’t so sure he would have particularly liked them, but the romanticized version in the movies and books made him long for it sometimes. Bucky would have liked the leather and metal of the greasers. He’d always had that kind of style; suits and ties were never his favorite thing to wear, though he looked good in them.

“Do you need something to help you lift it?” Mary asked, her arms crossed. “It’s very old and very heavy.”

“No, that’s okay,” Steve said, moving over to the corner. Bucky would probably be laughing at him right now for not asking for a dolly or something to help him move it. Steve could practically see his smirk. _“Sure ya don’t need any help?”_

But the fridge was easy for him to lift with two hands. Sometimes Steve forgot how strong he was outside of combat.

“Well I guess you don’t need any help, do you?” Mary chuckled, holding the door open as Steve hoisted the fridge out the door and toward the garage. Mary followed behind, humming quietly.

“So, how’s Bucky?” she asked.

“He’s doing great,” Steve grunted. Mary came around and opened the garage door for him and directed him where to place the fridge. She was right, it was pretty heavy.

“He’s been very sociable lately. When you first moved in, I thought he was never going to say a word. He looked very angry every time I saw him.”

Steve gently put down the fridge and wiped his hands off on his slacks. Bucky had come a long way, and it was good that someone had noticed. “Yeah, he was in a really rough place when we first came here. It’s taken a long time to bring him back.”

Mary put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a better friend to him than most people are to their spouses, Steve.”

He laughed. “Trust me, Bucky’s done more for me than I’ve done for him. He’s my best friend.”

“Don’t discount yourself, Steve,” Mary said with a smile. “Not many people can do what you’ve done.”

Steve shrugged sheepishly. He wasn’t about to explain to her that Bucky had spent his whole childhood looking after him, much more than the few months Steve had spent trying to bring Bucky back.

A raindrop splattered on his nose and Steve blinked in surprise before looking up to the sky.

Almost instantly, the clouds opened up and rain was suddenly crashing down on them. Mary ushered him into the shelter of the porch and though Steve knew he should be getting back to the apartment, he figured that waiting a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. Getting home would involve getting absolutely soaked unless he wanted to wait out the entire storm, but it would be rude to just leave Mary without giving her a proper goodbye.

“Here,” she returned from inside the house and handed him a twenty dollar bill.

Steve didn’t take it and shook his head. “There’s no way I’m taking that, ma’am. It wasn’t a problem at all.” He’d expected it to take a lot longer, but the fridge hadn’t been very big at all, nothing like the massive machines that were in houses now.

“Fine. Well how about I give you a ride back to your apartment instead? I‘m going to feel guilty if I don’t repay you somehow.”

Exchanging favors was much more Steve’s style. He nodded, smiling over at her before looking back out to the pouring rain. “Okay, I can do that. Thank you.”

“Want anything to eat before we go?” Mary asked, heading back inside presumably to find the keys to her golf cart.

“That alright, I told Bucky I’d eat with him today,” Steve replied, slipping his hands into his pockets. The temperature was rapidly dropping due to the weather, and the light soaking he’d gotten wasn’t making things any warmer.

“Of course you did. Have you two ever not shared a meal since you got here?” Mary laughed as she appeared again with her keys. “Might have to get a little wet, but you’ll be drier than if you try to walk home.”

“I appreciate it, Mary.”

A crack of thunder shook the house, but neither of them started. The storms that came through town were always loud. Steve followed Mary out the front door over to her golf cart and hopped in on the passenger side once she was in the driver’s seat.

Golf carts weren’t exactly made to shelter the occupants from the rain, but it did a good enough job keeping them mostly dry. The puddles shushed beneath them as they rolled down the blocks, flashing sympathetic smiles to the unlucky few that were caught in the storm and rushing back toward their houses.

Mary dropped him off in front of the complex and Steve gave her another hearty thank you before rushing inside. He checked the mail (nothing but a local ad for the bookstore) and headed up the stairs to the flat.

The door was locked, so he fished the spare key out from behind the picture frame in the hallway. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had locked himself in the flat, and Steve already knew he wouldn’t come to the door if he knocked. Paranoia was still a part of Bucky’s mind.

When he entered the apartment, he was surprised that the lights were on. Even more surprised that when he glanced into the kitchen, Bucky wasn’t standing there.

Steve immediately tensed. Swallowing hard, he crept forward and turned down the hallway to their bedrooms. Bucky’s door was shut and so was his. That was normal.

He pushed Bucky’s door open first, but wasn’t met with any gunshots. The futon was is disarray like Bucky always left it, and nothing looked odd. Steve quickly moved on to his own room and nothing looked amiss there either.

“Bucky?” he tried, but there was no answer.

The apartment seemed to take on an eerie silence as Steve moved into the kitchen, his pulse racing in his chest. Something was wrong here; he could feel it in his gut.

That was partly why he didn’t want to go into the kitchen, because he was afraid of what he would find there.

On the counter, the box of Froot Loops was sitting open and a bowl of them had already been poured. There were a few drops of milk on the countertop, a few on the floor, and the empty milk carton in the sink, some of the liquid still dribbling into the drain.

Bucky wasn’t the cleanliest person, but he wouldn’t just leave a mess on the floor—even just a few drops of milk. Steve glanced over at the table, where the newspaper was still sprawled out from where Bucky had been reading it that morning, and noticed a half-full glass of orange juice.

Whoever had been here had done an almost perfect job of making it appear as though Bucky had just stepped out. But the milk on the floor was the giveaway for Steve. That, and the windows were still open. Shutting the windows for a rainstorm was just another customary thing for the both of them. Steve’s allergies had always gotten worse in humidity and the rain had always made it a nightmare in their flat if they left a window open.

“Bucky?” he called one more time, praying that his best friend might just pop in with a smile and make a joke about the panic in Steve’s eyes. There was no response.

Bucky’s phone was still on the table.

Steve started going through their day, trying to take account of any new faces that might have indicated a threat. There hadn’t been anyone on the beach when they went down except for a pair of women and a group of young boys making seaweed piles. All of the people on the dock had been locals, the usual faces—

The new boat.

Another loud boom of thunder rattled the house as the realization sunk in. A fancy new boat at the docks. The boat docks weren’t technically part of their town, but were close enough that any decent swimmer could sneak in. HYDRA could easily have slipped into the town and watched them from any one of the small stores until Steve and Bucky parted ways, leaving Bucky alone.

Anger surged hot through Steve’s blood. Anger and shame at his stupidity to even think about leaving Bucky alone.

He checked his phone and figured that they had about a thirty-minute window for when Bucky had been taken. Steve charged out the door and tore down the stairs, feet flying so quickly beneath him that he was convinced he was going to fall before he made it to the bottom. His cellphone was at his ear as he raced out the door into the sheets of rain, running toward the docks.

“Hey man!” Sam greeted. “You finally ready to—“

“I need you to pull up all of the security feeds you have on this place. Bucky’s gone.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line as Sam snapped into his professional tone. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Steve panted, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking bad enough to hear. “I helped out one of our neighbors and came back to the apartment and he wasn’t there. There was a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice that hadn’t been touched and an empty milk carton in the sink with milk spilled on the floor.”

“I’m pulling up our feeds right now. What’s the timeframe look like?”

Steve ran toward the pier, now closed due to the weather. Rain stung his face in the harsh winds and he had to wipe his eyes constantly with his free hand just to see straight. “Thirty minutes, max. Check the water for a boat that came in today. Bucky noticed it earlier, but I didn’t even think…”

“Hey, don’t start thinking it’s your fault,” Sam said calmly. “It’s not your fault, Steve. Where the hell are you? What’s all that noise?”

“I’m outside,” Steve huffed, wiping his dripping brow. It was no use; there was an endless river of rain streaming into his eyes now. “Heading toward the dock.”

“Well that boat isn’t gonna be able to leave in this storm, HYDRA or not. Unless they got an ocean-ready yacht out there, they gotta still be around.”

Panic was starting to claw at Steve’s gut as he slipped underneath the chain meant to prevent entry to the pier. Waves crashed against both sides, angry and grey. Lightning lit the sky, immediately followed by a loud blast of thunder. Steve was breathing hard as he looked over toward the boat docks, but the rain was so thick that he could only see the faint outlines of boats bobbing in the waves.

“I don’t have anything on the gates, and I’m sending out an alert right now to close them all. I’m pretending it’s ‘cause of the weather.”

Sam said it like he was supposed to be impressed. “Look for the boat, Sam!” Steve yelled into the phone, much sharper than he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly. He just couldn’t lose Bucky again. Not now. Not when they were getting so close again.

He’d promised Bucky that he was safe.

Now Steve was standing in the middle of a storm with wind and water ripping at his skin, hopelessly wet and freezing while Bucky was probably having his brain cauterized so that he would never remember anything ever again. They very thought made Steve want to retch.

“I got the boat comin’ in at seven this morning. But right now I can’t see a thing on this camera. I’m trying to run the license number, but it’s gonna take a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute,” Steve said, his voice grave. “I’m going on that boat.”

“You can’t do that, Steve,” Sam warned. “You could compromise everything if you start jumpin’ onto people’s goddamn boats. At the very least you’re gonna look like you’re robbin’ the thing!”

“I have to find Bucky.”

“Two minutes won’t—“

“I have to find Bucky!” Steve screamed into the wind and started back into a sprint, this time toward the high chain link fence that made up the town’s perimeter, cleverly hidden behind big houses and lush ivy so as not to detract from the old fashioned feel. “If I don’t call you back in twenty minutes, send everyone.”

Sam didn’t get a chance to reply before he dropped his phone and kicked it beneath one of the raised metal trashcans. That way it would hopefully not get ruined in the rain. Tony had probably waterproofed his phone some time ago, but Steve wasn’t thinking about his cell phone’s technological advancements right now.

The fence was easy to scale, and then he was running over gravel toward where about twenty small boats were thrashing in the water. He slipped and fell hard on the rocks, cutting up his arms and chest as gravel embedded itself into his skin. Steve cursed under his breath, but didn’t even stop to wipe the rocks from his body before he was running again.

The new boat stuck out from all of the others. It was newer, with shiny white and silver sides and a roomy-looking cabin. It was hardly a yacht, but it was certainly a nice boat. Much bigger than the fishing boats surrounding it.

It tossed less in the waves due to its size and Steve leapt from the dock to grab the side rail with ease. He was not anticipating it to be so slippery. His left hand slipped, but he quickly caught the rail again with his right and managed to get a better hold. A wave rolled beneath the boat, and Steve was smacked with the backlash as it sprayed backward off of next boat.

Once he got himself into the boat, he yanked at the metal handle leading into the cabin. Water pooled to his ankles and sloshed up to his knees when waves crashed into the hull, and he didn’t even notice how much his clothes were weighted down by the water as he tried forcing the cabin door open.

It wouldn’t budge, but there was a light on inside. Steve was getting in there.

Lightning lit up the space around him and Steve looked for any way to get past the lock. Breaking the handle would be a bad idea, but it looked like it was going to be his only choice.

He landed a sharp kick to the handle to no avail. Thunder rattled the boat as Steve grabbed the metal with both hands and yanked as hard as he could.

Finally, it gave way and the door flung open by help of the wind, nearly throwing Steve overboard. If HYDRA thought they were getting away with Bucky again, they were about to discover what Captain America could do when he wasn’t suited up. No one was going to touch Bucky Barnes.

There was a shout from inside the cabin, but Steve charged right in. He didn’t care if he was shot, he could survive a few bullets if he had to.

Water poured in behind him as Steve entered, breathing hard and his eyes narrowed to a flinty glare. His fists were clenched as he scanned the cabin, gripping a wall as the boat rocked, sending more water inside.

There was a sophisticated control panel and a big roundabout couch that lined the walls. But what interested him was the tiny door at the far end of the boat, shut tight.

“Bucky?” he called, crouching slightly to keep his head from hitting the ceiling as he hurried to the door. He yanked at the handle and heard a thump on the other side.

Steve grit his teeth and punched right through the thin sheet of wood paneling that made up the door. There was a loud shout from the other side and he furiously yanked the door open.

It was a tiny bedroom, literally a “bed room” as there was no actual space that wasn’t the bed. A middle-aged man was hunched in the corner with a large kitchen knife in his hands, trembling. A woman was also armed with a knife sitting right beside him.

Another wave had them all gripping the walls to keep from tumbling, and that was when Steve noticed the smaller pair of eyes peeking from underneath the man’s arm. A little girl was staring at him, obviously frightened out of her mind.

This wasn’t a HYDRA boat. This wasn’t the place where Bucky had been taken. It was just a boat.

Horrible guilt and shame flooded Steve’s chest, crashing against the panic that was also surging up inside of him. He’d wasted time on the wrong lead.

Steve put his hands up. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, backing away. “I’m looking for my friend and…” There was no explanation for this. He was a strange man who had broken into their boat and punched open their bedroom door.

Steve didn’t have time to think about this. “I’m sorry,” he said over the sounds of the storm. Then he turned and stumbled his way out of the cabin. He shut the door and paused only for a moment, blinking hard. He’d just…

He had to find Bucky.

It was easier to get off of the boat than on it, at least, that was what Steve thought as he vaulted off of the edge and onto the dock. The wood was slippery though, so his feet slipped out from underneath him and his hands followed suit when he tried to catch himself, so he ended up landing with his cheek. A pained grunt escaped him, but then he was running again, back toward the fence and toward his phone.

Sam was still on the line.

“Sam?” he called through a loud blast of thunder.

“Jesus, Steve! Are you okay? What the hell did you do?”

Thankfully, Sam probably couldn’t see him on any cameras right now. “I’m fine. Did you find anything?”

“That boat doesn’t have a lick of HYDRA on it,” Sam said carefully. He wasn’t stupid, he knew something was up.

“I know,” Steve snapped. Again, he realized he’d been too harsh. “Sorry, Sam. I just…is that all you’ve found? Anything about Bucky?”

“Nothing at the gates. I need you to go back to your apartment and document everything. I need pictures, video, everything. We’re assembling a team and we’re gonna find him, Steve. I know how important this guy is to you. We’ll find him.”

Steve couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. Bucky couldn’t be gone. Now his captors had an hour lead on them, which was plenty of time to stuff him into a plane and pack him off someplace to burn out every part of his mind.

He hung up the phone and started sprinting off toward the apartment. He owed that family a massive apology, but he also owed on to Sam. He was just trying to help and Steve had been horribly snappy and rude to him.

 

 

Once he got inside the complex he ran up the stairs, his sneakers squelching and leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. He was utterly soaked; his shirt slick to his skin and his hair was now a dark brown and stuck to his skull. It was cold in the air conditioning of the building even as he ran up the flights of stairs to their flat. He hadn’t locked the door, so there was no need to look for the key this time.

Pink veins of water were running down his arm from where the gravel had been embedded into his skin and he could already feel his cheekbone bruising and swelling beneath his eye.

He stumbled into the door panting, grabbing the back of the couch to try and regain his breath. It wasn’t so much the workout that was winding him but the short breaths that came with panic and devastation. He couldn’t think about that right now though. He had to document the apartment.

“So much for not getting’ caught in the rain, huh?”

Steve froze, his breaths turning shallow all over again as he looked up. Bucky was standing there with a cocked brow and a crooked grin.

“Say, what took you so lo—“

“Where the hell were you?” Steve snarled. “Where the hell were you?”

Bucky flinched, eyes widening as he took a step back. “What?”

“I came back and you weren’t here. Where were you?”

“Jeeze, Rogers, calm down, will ya? I went to the damn grocery store ‘cause we ran outta milk. And I wasn’t about to use fuckin’ _almond mil_ —“

“Why didn’t you leave a note? Or call me, or take your phone? Or something!”

Bucky regained his composure, and the shock left his face, replaced by an almost stern look. “Didn’t realize I had to let you know where I was goin’, Steve. I was gone for maybe ten minutes, I figured you wouldn’t be back before then, and I figured you wouldn’t burn down the town lookin’ for me neither. What the hell did you do?”

Steve stormed across, the room, but instead of punching Bucky like he kinda wanted to, he grabbed him up in a hug. The feeling of loss was still very real to Steve—and he was convinced this was just some kind of hallucination.

“Hey,” Bucky soothed, hugging him right back. “Scared ya pretty good, didn’t I? ‘M sorry.”

Steve couldn’t respond, he just closed his eyes and squeezed him a little tighter. Today he had made a mistake: he’d forgotten that Bucky was still someone that HYDRA wanted back. Someone could have taken him today and they would be an hour behind, probably too late to find him.

“I’m right here, punk,” Bucky murmured, rubbing his shoulder with his flesh hand. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, Steve.” There was a little gasp. “You’re bleeding! What the hell—what were you doing?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s nothing. It was wet and I slipped, is all. It’s nothin’.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky said, pulling away to inspect his arm. “You got rock in your arm. Your cheek’s swellin’ up. Lemme look at that.”

“Bucky.” Steve leaned his face away. He wasn’t a scrawny kid anymore, he didn’t need to be looked after.

But Bucky caught his face anyway and started inspecting the wound. “You got splinters ‘n here. Where’d ya go lookin’, huh?”

Steve resettled his jaw, dimly gazing at Bucky’s jawline. He wasn’t used to seeing stubble there, but it wasn’t a bad look, even up close. He supposed he was used to seeing it now, though. Ever since the Winter Soldier had been in the next room over. “The docks. I thought that new boat might’ve been HYDRA.”

Bucky laughed and Steve could feel it against his neck in hard contrast to the cold wetness on his skin. “You’re such a dummy, Rogers, I swear. Wasn’t nothin’ on that boat, I bet.”

Steve swallowed. “No HYDRA.” He sucked in a breath as Bucky pulled out a splinter. He was something of an expert at getting them out with just his fingernails. Tweezers hadn’t been easy to come by in the past.

“Only looks like you had the one piece a wood in your face. The rest were just lyin’ there on your cheek,” Bucky murmured, turning his face up again to get a better look. “Idiot.”

“Hey,” Steve warned. “I wasn’t gonna lose you to them again. I really woulda burned down the whole place lookin’ for you if I thought I was gonna find you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky leaned back with a fond look in his eyes. “And why would you go doin’ that for me, huh?”

Steve shot him a look. “Because you’re my best friend.”

“Lotta people don’t do that kinda stuff for their best friends,” Bucky said, meeting his eyes in a way that had Steve not feeling so cold anymore.

“Well I’d do it for you a hundred times,” he said, but it came out quieter than he’d intended.

Bucky chuckled, giving a little half shrug. “I know ya would, and that’s what I don’t get. A guy like me doesn’t deserve someone like you, Rogers.”

“Right,” he replied with a nod. “You deserve a million guys better.”

Bucky rolled his eyes with a lopsided smile. “Nah,” he said softly, “I like havin’ just the one.”

Suddenly it was silent, but a new kind of silent that Steve hadn’t ever experienced before. His throat felt like it was tightening up a guitar string in his chest, and he could almost feel it vibrating in the back of his mouth, like he had words on is tongue that were not his own. Or, at least, not ones his mind had thought up.

He stood there, frozen, but Bucky seemed to know exactly what this feeling was. Steve gave him wide eyes, completely unsure. Bucky was leaning forward though, and for some reason Steve found himself pulling his head away from him.

“What’cha think I’m gonna do, Steve? Calm down,” Bucky chuckled and Steve could feel it on his lips, his chin, his neck.

He opened his mouth to say something when Bucky’s lips touched his, soft and warm and gentle.

Steve went rigid. _Not that_ , he wanted to scream. _Not that._


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky tasted like frosted sugar, Steve noticed. His lips felt different than a woman’s too. But as soon as Steve realized he had recognized those things, he snapped out of his moment of surprise and shoved Bucky away from him, bringing a hand to touch his lips as if he’d just been punched.

Bile was surging up his throat just as much as warmth was spreading through his chest and he really just wanted to throw up and get rid of all of the feelings.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Bucky said almost apologetically, hesitantly moving forward.

Steve let out a sick little laugh, putting his hands on his knees to stop the room from spinning. “Really, Bucky? That’s not something that just happens accidently,” he snapped.

Bucky had just kissed him. On the mouth.

Steve put a palm over his lips, physically trying to hold in his nausea.

“Well, it was an accident,” Bucky retorted. “I ain’t a fuckin’ fairy.”

“Neither am I!” Steve shot right back, standing up straight again though his legs were shaking. Anger was quickly wiping out most of his other emotions. It was so easy to hide behind anger—he’d forgotten that. “That doesn’t change that you just kissed me!” he hissed, praying the neighbors couldn’t hear.

Bucky pursed his lips, looking a mix of horrified and downright scared. “I’m not a fuckin’ queer.”

Steve swallowed hard. He was scared too, mostly because he had no idea what this was going to do to them. This wasn’t the Winter Soldier kissing his neck for a cover. This was Bucky—the real Bucky—kissing him on the lips.

“It’s wrong.”

“I know,” Bucky snapped. “It was an _accident_!”

Both of them had grown up in the cheapest part of Brooklyn, the one that happened to be the mixing bowl of all of the world’s worst “sinners”. Namely, men who loved other men. Neither of them were new to the notion of two men being in love and Steve knew for a fact that neither of them took issue with it. People could love whomever they wanted.

But Steve Rogers was not a man who would ever be caught kissing another man. Other people could do whatever they wished, but not him.

“I’m having trouble believing that, Bucky,” he said plainly. Sugarcoating things would only get them deeper into trouble here.

Bucky swallowed, then met his eyes with a steely gaze usually only reserved for Steve’s bullies. “I’m not a _fuck-ing_ queer.”

Steve wiped his lips with the back of his hand another time, the taste of Bucky’s mouth still lingering there. “It’s wrong,” he repeated.

“I know it’s wrong. I sat in the pews, same as you,” Bucky growled. “I know it ain’t right.”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, that’s what I’m worried about,” Steve said. “When you were the Winter Soldier…do you remember the Hoffman party?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut like he was getting a headache. “Yeah.”

“What you did when—“

“Yeah, Steve, I fuckin’ remember all right? I remember!”

“Well that wasn’t an accident,” Steve said. “That wasn’t—“

“Don’t start!” Bucky shouted. Then, a little quieter, “Don’t you dare start comparin’ this to that. Don’t you dare.”

He nodded once, licking his lips as he looked at the floor. They still tasted like Bucky. He wondered if it would ever go away. Probably not. He didn’t want this to end them, though, They could work past it. If any pair of friends could, it was the two of them.

“Let’s just forget it, okay?” he offered. “It was an accident, plain and simple. Nothing else.”

Surprisingly, Bucky almost looked hurt by that last comment. Steve had to look away from him. That warmth in his chest, that sheer shock and surprise that was, for a moment, something close to happy…Steve closed his eyes.

“Nothin’ else,” Bucky said with a nod. “But I’m done forgettin’ things.”

Steve gave him a stunned look, pretty sure that his chest was going to start seizing up any minute. He didn’t know what was worse: the fact that Bucky had just kissed him, or the fact that Bucky didn’t want to forget it.

Steve wanted to stuff that moment into the furthest crevice of his mind he could find and cover it up with everything he’d ever remembered in his entire life so that he wouldn’t ever find it again. He hoped it would get scattered into other memories and other dreams until it was so fragmented that there was no piecing it back together.

He didn’t want to remember it at all. He never wanted to look at Bucky’s lips and recall how soft they were or how warm his breath was over—

Steve shook the thought out of his head. Even now as Bucky was staring at him, he kept thinking about it. He _hated_ it.

“You even kissed anyone since Peggy?” Bucky asked.

“Yes!” Steve said quickly. “I kissed Natasha—and even if I hadn’t, _that_ wasn’t a kiss! That would _not_ have counted.”

Bucky bit his lip, nodding once. “Yeah, I know, Steve. I was just askin’.”

He couldn’t understand why Bucky’s skin wasn’t crawling about this. “Then why’d you ask? I don’t want to talk about kissing anymore. I don’t want to talk about it right now. At all.”

“Natasha…The red-head?”

Steve pursed his lips. “Yes. You’ve tried to kill her a few times in these past few decades.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Stop actin’ like that, Steve.”

“Like what?” he shot back. The one who was acting like an idiot was Bucky, not him!

“Like ya never seen two guys kissin’ before.”

Steve set his jaw. “I don’t care what other guys do. I’m not them.”

That got him a raised brow. “So ya wouldn’t mind if I was kissin’ on a fella?”

Of course he would mind. Bucky had made it damn clear years ago that he was not interested in men like he was with women. As two fellas living together in their neighborhood, many people had mistaken them for a couple. Most people only made that mistake once. Twice and they got a shiner from Bucky.

“Don’t start with the hypotheticals, Bucky,” Steve snapped. “And, for the record, I wouldn’t care. As long as it wasn’t with me.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared. “Well I ain’t a pansy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve said.

“I ain’t.”

“I _know_!”

Bucky unfolded his arms with a curt nod and returned to the table without another word. Steve stood there for a moment and then shook his head.

“What?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of cereal.

“Was that you, or was that the Winter Soldier?” Steve asked, looking him dead in the eye.

Bucky stopped chewing and swallowed, a scowl forming at the corners of his lips.

When he didn’t answer, Steve asked again, “Was that you or the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky put down his spoon and glared at him. “Get it through your head, Rogers: we’re the same fuckin’ person.”

Steve’s lip twitched and he left the room without looking back, slamming the door to his bedroom once he was inside. He had phone calls to make.

Thunder roared outside, but the sounds of the storm were lost to him as he scrolled through his phone to find Sam’s number. Once it was ringing, he wiped his lips again, still trying to rid Bucky’s taste from them once and for all.

“Hello?”

“Sam, it’s me.”

Sam sighed in relief on the other end of the line. “Thank god. I thought HYDRA nabbed you or something. I didn’t get any pictures—what’s the deal?”

Steve closed his eyes. “Bucky’s okay. He apparently just went to the store and thought I wouldn’t get back before he did.”

“You’re kiddin’ me!” Sam didn’t sound too happy, which made Steve feel better. “Ah jeeze. Okay, I’ll call off the dogs. This’ll be a learning experience, you know? A good practice run in case somethin’ does happen.”

He wanted to tell Sam about the kiss, to ask what the hell it could mean (because there was no way in hell it meant _that_ ) but the sheer disgust writhing around in Steve’s chest made him stay quiet. If somebody else knew what had happened, they would judge either Bucky or himself—or both of them—and that would ruin everything. No, he couldn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured.

“He’s okay and everything…right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Bucky’s fine,” Steve said.

“And you’re okay too?” Sam asked, but it was clear he already knew that Steve wasn’t.

Really though, Steve didn’t know if he was okay or not. “I don’t know.” That was all he could think to say in response.

“He’s safe, Steve,” Sam assured him. “And he really didn’t mean to scare you, probably.”

If only Sam knew the real reason Steve was upset. “I know. Those people in the boat though…”

There was a snort on the other end of the line. “Man, that’s the easiest thing in the world to fix. One little boat? One little boat that Captain America broke into with good reason? Please. Piece of cake.”

Steve passed a hand over his face. “Sam, that’s not the point. I terrified that family and ruined their boat. A SHIELD apology and a few thousand dollars isn’t a real apology. I can’t keep messing up like this and not getting any consequences for it.”

He could practically see Sam rolling his eyes on the other end of the line, but Steve was being serious. He’d destroyed that family’s property and terrified them. That wasn’t right.

“Okay fine. I’ll handle the boat and the family—because I doubt they’ll believe Captain America if he says he broke into their boat, and because you might just freak ‘em out going back there—and I’ll make up some goddamn punishment if you want.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant, Sam.”

“Nope, you said you wanted a consequence so I’m gonna give you one. I just gotta think it up first.”

“Sam—“

“Hey, you want your buddy to be in on this?”

“His name is—“

“I know what his name is, Steve,” Sam said. “I’m asking if you want him in on this. Do you?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. Bucky hadn’t technically done anything wrong…until ten minutes ago. Discomfort bubbled underneath his skin again and Steve decided he wanted to take a break from Bucky for a little while. Just until he could get rid of what had just happened in the kitchen.

“No, just me.”

“Sweet, I’ll put him on just for fun then,” Sam said, smiling.

“Sam—“

“Can’t talk, gotta think about this punishment thing. Might take me awhile to think it up, so don’t get worried if you don’t hear from me. Love ya, big guy. Talk to you later!”

“Sam!” But the phone beeped, signaling that he’d been hung up on.

With an annoyed huff, Steve tossed his phone onto the bed. Sam was probably going to make him go on a date, because after one helicopter ride with Natasha, they’d both started pestering him with questions about any woman Steve had been around in the past three years. He was honestly tired of it, but maybe he needed something like that.

He licked his lips nervously just thinking about it, and cringed when he tasted frosted sugar again.

That was it.

Steve left his bedroom and crossed the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door hard behind him and locking it. He peeled off his shirt, still soaked from the rain, and started running water from the sink. First, he filled an entire cup with mouthwash and started swishing, uncaring that the cap said to only use a tablespoon at a time. His cheeks burned, his tongue was scorching in his mouth, but he swished anyway and turned the faucet to as hot as it could go.

He grabbed a loofa from the shower and brought it to his nose, his nostrils flaring when he smelled Bucky’s shower gel (Steve preferred the kind that smelled like mint, Bucky liked the kind that just smelled like cologne). He threw it as hard as he could toward the door, where it made impact with a pathetic _whump_.

His cheeks started to ache as he dug through the towel closet and grabbed a fresh washcloth. After wetting it in the boiling water, he brought it to his neck and started scrubbing as hard as he could at the skin there.

Bucky and the Winter Soldier might have come together or whatever Bucky had tried to say, but that moment at the Hoffman party was not Bucky. Those lips on his neck had felt like warm, wet slime.

He inhaled sharply at the memory and accidently swallowed some of the mouth wash.

That caused him to start in surprise and in panic because he knew he wasn’t supposed to swallow it, so he spewed the rest of it out into the sink. Steve coughed, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to keep coughing because who knew what was in mouthwash that made it dangerous—maybe any more than a tablespoon was enough to kill someone, even though he’d probably not even swallowed a teaspoon.

His stomach finally buckled and Steve braced himself on the sink before vomiting.

His vomit was a light blue, a mix of the almond milk he’d drank right before they left for the dock and the mouthwash. The rest of his breakfast from earlier was already out of his stomach, thankfully.

“Steve?” He heard Bucky outside the door. “Steve, are you okay?”

Steve rested his forehead on the sink faucet, breathing hard amidst the occasional dry heave. He didn’t want Bucky anywhere near him right now. He didn’t want to say anything to him.

“Steve! I’m breakin’ the door in two seconds—“

“I’m fine!” he snapped, watching the contents of his stomach swirl down the drain. The hiss of the faucet in his ear was calming, like a waterfall even though the steam was making him feel overheated.

“Open the door, Steve,” Bucky said. Then, quieter: “Please.”

Steve panted into the bowl of the sink for a few more moments and then stood straight again. He was shaking, like he always had once he was finished throwing up. He ran his tongue along his lips.

Frosted sugar.

He grabbed the cup again and dumped more mouthwash into it, though he got some blue on his hands because they were shaking as they poured.

“Jesus, Steve. Open the goddamn door!”

“I’m not opening the door, Bucky!” he snarled. “Would you just leave me alone? I don’t want to talk right now!”

“I don’t give a fuck if ya wanna talk or not,” Bucky shot back. “I want’cha to open the door!”

The air conditioning hummed to life and a moment later there was a gentle, cold, wind in the bathroom, laving right across the spot on Steve’s neck that he’d just scrubbed raw.

Why did Bucky have to kiss him? Why the fuck did Bucky have to kiss him?

“Don’t come in here,” Steve said in a shaky voice.

He heard Bucky lean against the door. “Stevie, talk to me. I gotta know if you’re okay. Ya sick or somethin’? Let’s talk, huh?”

Steve set down the cup of mouthwash and wet his washcloth again. He started scrubbing at his neck harder until he could feel the fibers of the washcloth grating his skin away instead of the wet, slimy feeling his mind was putting there.

It didn’t help that Bucky was sitting right outside the door.

“I’m not sick. I’m fine. Just leave me alone,” he finally said.

“I wanna help. Let me help.”

Steve swallowed hard. “Buck, the way you can help is by staying away from me right now.” It hurt his heart to say it, but it was true.

He heard Bucky shift on the other side of the door. “Okay.” There was a long pause and Steve knew Bucky hadn’t left. Finally, Bucky spoke again, “It was just an accident.”

It almost made him laugh to hear it. Just an accident. They both knew it wasn’t an accident, but they also knew it felt better to tell each other that it was.

He sucked up the cup of mouthwash and started swishing harder than ever, the burning hot washcloth still pressed to his neck. The reflection in the mirror was one of a man who had lost.

Steve curled his hand to a fist and started scrubbing his neck again. His knuckles bit into his skin, but he was fully prepared to make himself bleed if it meant he was going to purge himself of this sin.


	17. Chapter 17

Steve decided to take a shower after his neck started burning so badly that he had to pause before every scrub. He made sure the water was scalding, and even tried more mouthwash to swish while he washed, but his cheeks hurt so much that he had to abandon that idea.

Showers were usually calming, but this one only gave him time to think about how disgusting he felt. The hot water was only cleaning the outside, when the feeling of dirtiness was coming from his insides. Throwing up hadn’t really helped, and he doubted there was much of anything that would make him feel clean again except for time.

He made sure to be completely dressed when he finally stepped from his bedroom and out into the living room where Bucky was sitting, examining his metal arm. When he saw Steve, he looked up with wide eyes and quickly sat up straight.

“Steve.”

Steve sat on the other end of the couch, furthest from Bucky. He pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around himself, making sure to keep a barrier between them.

Bucky looked so hurt, but Steve decided it was for the better.

“Steve,” Bucky said again. “I want’cha to—“

“Stop,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “Let’s just watch TV.”

Bucky nodded slowly, retreating back to his corner of the couch.

 

 

* * *

  

 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky murmured, gently knocking on his bedroom door.

Steve looked up from his desk where he was searching through another ex-SHIELD agent file. Fury had assigned him to look for warning signs for HYDRA agents that could still be active. It was purely busywork, but Steve had asked for it this time. Missions were still off the table until Bruce could come down for psyche evaluations for Bucky.

“What is it, Buck,” he mumbled, turning back to his paperwork.

“I was thinkin’ a goin’ to the pier. Maybe fishin’ or somethin’.”

They’d never gone fishing off the dock before. He had a feeling Bucky wouldn’t have the patience for fishing. At all. Steve shook his head. “You need a license for that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky take a few steps closer. “Ya need a license for that?”

“Yes,” Steve muttered, flipping his paper over. “And it takes a bit longer than two minutes to get one.”

“You really think someone’s gonna do somethin’ if we’re fishin’ off the dock? Come on.”

Steve turned his head to give Bucky a blank look. “I’d rather not break the law today. Maybe some other time.”

Bucky set his jaw. “Yeah, okay.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You still draw?” Bucky asked as they started up the stairs to their apartment.

“Sometimes,” Steve replied, hands in his pockets. He had a few sketchbooks lying around, but hadn’t touched them since he’d arrived here with the Winter Soldier.

“They got some of ‘em at the museum,” Bucky said. “They ain’t your best ones, though.”

They were sketches of 1940s New York. Historical landscapes, they were called. A vision into Steve Rogers’ life, his neighborhood.

“What were my best ones?” Steve asked, but his voice was bland.

Bucky turned to him with a smirk. “The ones ‘a me, of course.”

Steve stopped walking for a moment, his cheeks flushing red despite his every attempt to stop them. He could have sworn Bucky had never seen those sketches. In fact, he’d burned all of them—all of them—before getting into the car with Peggy that day before his transformation. There was no way Bucky had seen them.

Right?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Steve reached over, knocking Bucky’s metal arm out of the way as he tried to start the coffee machine. Bucky recoiled immediately, his metal hand frozen in position.

“You don’t press that button unless you’re using the hot foam,” Steve explained. “You press this one.” He pressed the button.

“Still savin’ the day, Rogers,” Bucky chuckled, setting his coffee mug below the drip as the machine started.

Steve looked over at him with the closest thing he’d had to a smile since Bucky tried to kiss him. Since Bucky _had_ kissed him. “Just trying to save you from your own stupid.”

Bucky reached across his chest so that he could knock Steve with his flesh hand. “You’re still a punk.”

Jerk. His brain told him to say it, but Steve refrained. “Did you ever go fishing off the dock?” he asked instead, readying his own cup of coffee for when Bucky’s was finished.

They looked at each other for a moment, with Steve chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. His gaze did flick down to Bucky’s mouth for a moment and his spine tingled with unease. He knew what that mouth tasted like. Worse, he could remember every moment of what it felt like in excruciating detail.

Bucky shook his head, his eyes uncomfortably glued to Steve’s. Bucky was clearly trying to avoid looking anywhere that he thought Steve wouldn’t want him to. “Nah, didn’t want to go without you.”

It dimly registered that Steve knocking Bucky’s arm out of the way was the first time they’d touched each other since the ‘incident.’ He turned his head back toward his coffee mug.

“Maybe you should start doing some things on your own,” Steve said. “Could be good for you.”

The coffeemaker beeped and both of them moved to grab the mug.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Water rushed past his ears as Steve cut through another small wave in the lake. It was late afternoon, with low wind. Perfect for a two-mile swim. There was nothing quite like the feeling of gliding through the water—not quite as calm as a pool but not as vicious as ocean waves. Lakes were his new favorite swimming spot, that was for sure.

Swimming allowed him to feel free in a way that being on air couldn’t. He controlled everything from his arms to his breaths, each one something refreshing and needed. He never had to think about what was going on at the apartment, the files he had waiting for him on his desk, or Bucky fidgeting on the couch, waiting for him to get back.

He breached the surface of the lake, sucking down another breath before ducking his head for another butterfly stroke, kicking his legs out behind him and slicing easily through the water. The sand was going to catch him soon; he could tell by the change in water temperature that he was nearing the end of his swim.

Sure enough, a few strokes later and his hands hit the bottom. Steve tucked in the water and extended until he could stand, then started into a run toward the rocky shore. He was on pace to beat his previous record, which pushed him to go even faster, lifting his legs higher to try and keep his feet over the surface of the water. This was by far the hardest part of his workout, but it was his favorite. That burn in his lungs was something he seldom experienced anymore.

He reached the shore and checked his watch again before darting toward where he’d left his sneakers and shirt. Ever the modest one, he slipped into his shirt and quickly forced on his shoes and socks, not caring if they got wet in the process. He could beat his record today if he tried hard enough.

Next, he scaled the boulders that made up the bank from the lake to the nature trail, placed there to prevent erosion. The boulders were set at all different angles, as though some sea monster had just flung them to shore one day in an angry fit. But they were great for testing his parkour skills, allowing him to vault, balance, and jump his way up to the asphalt path above that mirrored the curves of the shore.

The trees rustled their quiet encouragement when he scaled the last boulder, hopping through a gap between two rocks and landing silently on the asphalt.

There were a few couples walking along the path as there usually were in the early evening hours. Most of them were young, their hands loosely twined as if to show that they could still be free if they wanted to. Older couples walked with their hands clasped tightly together, keeping each other steady.

As Steve tore by a young couple pushing a stroller, it actually crossed his mind what way he might hold hands with Bucky. The adrenaline that came along with his embarrassment from that thought pushed him even faster.

His sneakers dug into the concrete when he turned the corner toward the shops, taking in the familiar bright colors of the houses along the way. This town really had been the perfect fit for them: there were only a few places on earth that Steve would have felt comfortable leaving a potentially unstable Bucky on his own for awhile.

Well, since they’d agreed Bucky wasn’t to leave the apartment without a note _and_ a text message.

Steve quickly glanced to make sure no golf carts were coming before running across the street to the front door of the apartment complex. He was on track to beat his time.

He shoved the door open and charged up the stairs, keeping his breathing even as he took them two at a time. He gave a quick wave to one of the residents on the second floor who had almost walked out with her laundry basket right in front of him. Most people knew of Steve and his workout habits, but they were still perceived as rumors by a lot of people.

Once he arrived on his floor, Steve burst from the stairwell and sprinted as fast as he could down the hall. He really hoped that Bucky had remembered to keep the door unlocked this time.

Steve hit the door with a loud thump and thankfully, Bucky had remembered. But instead of finishing his run inside, his wet sneaker slipped out from under him and he flew through the doorway mostly horizontal. Steve crashed to the floor and took out both of the floor lamps on either side of the back of the couch. He slapped his watch, still not quite registering that he’d just fallen.

He’d beaten his time.

A smile came to Steve’s face about the same time the pain hit him, which resulted in a sharp gasp that ended in a laugh.

“Jesus! Steve!” The sliding door to the balcony slammed shut as Bucky ran into the living room. “What’s going on? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve chuckled, sitting up from underneath the lamps. One of the bulbs had shattered all over the floor, but none of the pieces had hit him or anything. He was fine.

That didn’t stop Bucky from rushing over to investigate. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” Bucky grumbled, grabbing his face to look for shrapnel. Steve tried pulling his face away, but Bucky wasn’t allowing that.

“I beat my time,” Steve said once Bucky started looking through his hair. “By ten seconds.”

“Oh wow, I’m so glad you nearly got yourself killed. Ten seconds? Gee wiz!” Bucky rolled his eyes and quickly withdrew once he determined that Steve hadn’t been hurt. Too quickly.

Steve looked away, hating that lonely feeling that started churning in his chest because he knew he missed Bucky. They’d regained something of their banter and friendliness, but it wasn’t the same now. He was beginning to wonder if it would ever return. Maybe that kiss was something they never would get past.

He helped Bucky set up the lamps again and wandered into the kitchen to get the broom and dustpan. Just like the old days, he handed the dustpan to Bucky (Steve had always started coughing up a lung if it was ever his job to hold it) and started sweeping up the pieces of light bulb.

As they both crouched there, Steve thought about the times they had done this out in the field. Both of them had seen many men die right at their feet like this, breathing hard with eyes blown wide, asking for their mothers or their wives. Bucky had always said the right thing to those men, taking one of his hands and squeezing hard and telling him he’d be all right in no time. Steve would take the other hand when the man looked at him for reassurance that Sergeant Barnes wasn’t lying to him. _“That’s right,”_ Steve would say. “ _You’ve already made it through the worst part. It’s gonna be easy now.”_

Only after a man went still would they look at each other with the grim understanding that the other one couldn’t go like that. They couldn’t make each other lie.

“Ten seconds, huh?” Bucky said after the glass was mostly swept up.

Steve couldn’t help but smile. Running endorphins and all of that. “Yeah.”

“You must’a swam pretty fast, you don’t even smell like a lake,” Bucky teased, shaking the dustpan and moving it back so that Steve could get all of the pieces they’d missed.

Steve reached down to pick up a tiny shard that had gotten stuck between the floorboards and let out a little breath in announcement that the cleaning up was finished. “I’ll get a new light bulb for that.”

He held out a hand and took the dustpan from Bucky before he stood and walked it to the kitchen.

“You’re lucky I kept the door unlocked,” Bucky said, leaning his flesh shoulder on the doorframe as Steve dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash.

“I think the door was lucky you kept it unlocked,” Steve said with a sly smile.  He clipped the dustpan back to the broom and stuck it back in its place.

He froze when he felt Bucky’s eyes on him. His breaths immediately seemed to lose all of their use in his chest and he was sure he looked all kinds of panicked when he met Bucky’s eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky said, but he was pretty sure his lips hadn’t even moved.

“Yeah?” He could feel Bucky’s body heat even from two feet away. Everything was moving slowly now, but still too fast for him to process.

“Can you just—“ Bucky bit his lip, moving closer to him. Steve lifted his head like a frightened horse, tensing but not backing up.

“Bucky—“

“I know what they said,” Bucky said, fighting out the words. “The nuns and the priests and all them. I know they said it was wrong. You ever think they were just dumb back then? It ain’t wrong anymore.”

Steve grit his teeth so hard he was sure his jaw was going to snap. “It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong.”

“ ‘Cause that’s what they told us,” Bucky said quietly. “That’s the only reason you think—“

“It feels wrong, Bucky,” Steve said carefully. “It feels disgusting.”

Bucky was right in his face now, so close that Steve could see all of the colors in his eyes, the shade of his lips, feel the tickle of long, dark hair on his cheek. “Okay, so it feels wrong. In your gut, it feels wrong. But what about everywhere else, huh? Does it feel wrong everywhere else?”

Steve swallowed hard, not sure how to answer. So he said the first thing that came to mind. “It feels gross. And wet. And slimy and I don’t want to do it ever again because I can’t and—“

Bucky moved fast, like he wanted Steve to just shut up, so he ended up with his metal hand on Steve’s cheek, thumbing gently.

Steve stopped talking when he felt the chill, glancing down at Bucky’s arm. Bucky looked down too and Steve could feel the hesitation in his movements. It was one of the rare times he had ever seen his best friend look afraid.

“Just—“ Bucky’s voice was shaky. “Please. I want—I just want you to—“

Steve’s brow furrowed, not liking the pain he saw creasing on Bucky’s forehead. In his heart he knew what Bucky was trying to ask, but couldn’t let himself move on it. This was wrong, even if other people accepted it now. Even this position—with Bucky’s hand on his cheek—could compromise them if anyone found them this way.

“Stay still, okay?” Bucky asked—pleaded. “Just…”

Steve watched him bite his lip, then move forward. Steve’s every muscle braced for impact as if Bucky’s mouth was a sledgehammer moving toward his face in slow motion.

Their lips touched, gently, and a million moments flashed through Steve’s mind. Movies, newsreels of soldiers returning home, even the image he’d walked in on of Bucky mouthing at some girl’s collarbone once. Lips on skin, lips on lips, something he’d seen a hundred thousand times before but never felt for longer than a fleeting second.

Bucky pulled away pretty quick and there was a breathy little smile on the corners of his lips. Steve was still paralyzed. He hadn’t even felt it.

“Wasn’t so bad, huh?” Bucky murmured, relaxing significantly and leaving his spot where he was leaned against the doorframe. His metal hand slipped away, replaced by his flesh one that ran through Steve’s hair.

When Steve didn’t respond—how could he respond?—Bucky kissed him again. He was being extremely gentle (Steve had seen him kiss without gentleness plenty of times), but Steve just couldn’t feel it. It just felt like someone was pushing on his lips with the sides of two fingers. Detached.

It didn’t taste like frosted sugar anymore.

Bucky pulled away again and laughed softly. “You know, it helps if ya kiss back.”

Kiss. Steve was kissing his best friend. Just the sound that word made in his brain caused him to shiver. Bucky was a man. A man made of hard lines and crooked smiles and who could shoot someone at 800 yards and always hit the mark. A man.

All Steve could see was the men on their block who he’d seen holding hands under tables, flashing goofy smiles at each other that made him look away in discomfort. All public affection stirred that reaction in him, even something as simple as a smile made him feel like he was intruding on something private.

“Hey,” Bucky soothed, pushing his hair back. All Steve could feel was the pull of his scalp. “Relax. You’re all right, Rogers.”

And Bucky kissed the corner of his mouth. Steve hesitantly parted his lips just a little, because maybe that would stop the numbness. He did want this, right? Or was he just trying it out? He didn’t know.

He could feel Bucky smile against his mouth and closed his eyes. His sense of smell heightened just a bit and he could catch the scent of Bucky’s shower gel, feel the graze of stubble against his chin.

Hesitantly, Steve pressed back against Bucky’s mouth and there was a little vibration against his lips as Bucky hummed contentedly. Steve’s arms were still glued to his sides, unsure of how exactly this was supposed to go. There just didn’t seem to be a natural way to hold another man. Bucky wasn’t slender like some dame.

Bucky’s lips left his again and Steve took a deep breath, his eyes flicking open. Nervousness was still knotting up his chest—maybe it wasn’t nervousness. Whatever it was, it was building.

“Steve, you okay?” Bucky asked, concern clouding his eyes.

Steve must have gone pale because Bucky’s face fell to something close to panic.

“Stevie, you’re okay. Nothin’s wrong. Nothin’s wrong, you hear me?”

Finally, he found words. “It is wrong,” Steve whispered. “It is wrong.”

Bucky’s mouth pressed to a hard line. “If it feels wrong—if you don’t want me to do this, I’ll stop. But if it’s just the goddamn Sisters in your head, then forget about ‘em.” Bucky thumbed at his cheek as though he were trying to reshape his face into something that wasn’t going to see that this was a sin. “We can do this.”

Steve didn’t realize it, but he must have nodded because Bucky’s lips were on his again, insistently pressing against his mouth. Soft noises accompanied every one of them—kissing noises. Steve had never heard them so close before.

He responded this time though. He paused Bucky with an exhale, then hesitantly pressed their lips together again. Bucky grinned so wide that Steve felt teeth against his lip (kinda gross) and suddenly they were kissing for real.

Bucky’s mouth was warm, but Steve still didn’t feel what he’d felt when he kissed Peggy. The warmth ended at his lips, it didn’t spread down to his chest like before. That tension was all that was in his ribcage, building and building each time he felt Bucky against him.

His entire spine lit up with discomfort when Bucky sucked gently on his bottom lip. His initial reaction was the wrong one: he pushed forward against Bucky’s mouth. Instead of prompting Bucky to pull away, that seemed to signal that he’d liked it, because Bucky kissed him again (harder) and sucked on his bottom lip again (also harder).

The little purr at the end seemed to be the trigger for the bomb that had manifested inside of Steve Rogers.

He grabbed Bucky’s collar hard in warning, but that caused Bucky to laugh. “Jesus, Steve, you liked that, huh?”

Bucky captured his lips again, but Steve shoved him backward, causing Bucky to hit his back on the doorframe with an _oompf_.

He and Bucky’s relationship had always been physical. They were brothers in that sense—when one of them shoved, the other one shoved back. Bucky worked his jaw for a second, looking down at his chest and then up at Steve before coming forward and knocking him back into the table.

“Wanna play rough, huh? I can do that.”

Steve couldn’t tell if he was trying to be sexual or not. The look on Bucky’s face wasn’t what it had just been.

Bucky’s hands clawed at his still-damp shirt and he shoved Steve down on the table with a look in his eyes that was unlike anything Steve had ever seen before. The feeling it gave Steve was akin to drowning: he could see the surface, but breathing still meant he was going to die.

He didn’t get much leverage, but he still managed to punch Bucky pretty hard in the jaw.

“Fuck!” Bucky spat, bringing a hand to gingerly touch the point of impact. There was a pause. A breath. Then he let out a growl and lunged.

Steve dodged the blow, but the table didn’t. It splintered beneath Bucky’s metal fist. Steve was on his feet in a second and landed a punch to Bucky’s gut. They both knew what they were doing now. This wasn’t a fight where either of them was unaware of who they were fighting.

Bucky recovered fast though, and rammed Steve into the fridge, knocking over the trashcan.

“Too fucked up, for ya?” Bucky snarled. “Too fucked up?”

Steve grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s hair and yanked, pulling his weight forward. His legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, and that was enough to send the both of them to the ground.

There was a crunch beneath Bucky’s back when Steve bowled him over and Bucky hissed in pain. For a moment Steve paused, teeth still gritted, to see if Bucky was okay.

That gave Bucky enough time to clock him right in the nose.

Steve flew backward and Bucky followed with fury in his eyes. He landed on Steve’s chest hard enough to knock the air right out of Steve’s lungs, then punched him square in the face with his flesh fist.

“Don’t—“Another punch. “—fuckin’—“ A punch with his metal hand. “—play games—with—me—Rogers.”

The last punch had Steve seeing stars, but he still managed to hook his arm under Bucky’s leg and roll him over.

They clawed at each other while both of them battled to see who was going to get the best position, but Bucky’s long hair once again proved to be his downfall. Steve grabbed it and yanked Bucky’s head down to connect with his knee, drawing a sharp “ _shit!_ ” from Bucky before Steve tossed him backward into the living room. Bucky’s cheek was cut open, his mouth was trickling blood, and his back was turning dark red from where he had—most likely—landed on the pieces of light bulb that had been in the trash can.

Steve strode across the living room, his right eye swollen shut and blood pouring from his nose. But Bucky didn’t wait around for any dramatic effect. He swung his legs out and knocked Steve to the floor.

They punched each other so many times that Steve couldn’t feel his fists anymore. They kneed, kicked, and elbowed after that, the air only punctuated by shouts of pain, hurt, and a kind of fury unknown to both of them. They were fighting because they had to fight. They had to land punches and hurt and _harm_. There was so much anger, so much unknown that Steve couldn’t account for, couldn’t understand.

Violence had never been his weapon. No, it had. Violence had _always_ been Steve’s weapon. It was just that nobody cared until he’d gained a hundred and fifty pounds and started using violence to save lives.

They were fighting now because they needed to. That need outweighed everything else, even their friendship. So they fought until they broke, and fought some more.

Bucky slugged him across the face another time, but it was weak. Steve stared up at him—both of his eyes swollen now—and grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s hair.

Instead of tugging it, he just squeezed his hand into a fist. He was too tired to fight anymore. The fire in his eyes had waned to candlelight, the anger in his bones had retreated back to the holes in his marrow.

His hand dropped to the floor. He couldn’t move.

Bucky spat out a blood clot and glared at him for a long while. Finally, he got to his feet. Whatever they had fought about, it was decided.

Steve closed his eyes, his brain buzzing in his skull as Bucky limped away. He heard Bucky’s door shut a few moments later.

 

 

 

For a long time, Steve could only think about lake water. Just imagining one single wave in his head was an impossible thing to do. Words couldn’t fill his thoughts—there was no language in his brain. Just nothingness and an endless throbbing throughout his whole body as he breathed out blood.

When he could finally find some semblance of his being, Steve struggled to his feet, using the back of the couch for support. The flat was a mess—there was blood and shattered glass everywhere from the coffee table they’d crashed into. Steve’s phone had four missed calls, but he didn’t bother to pick it up as he slunk toward the bathroom, still breathing hard.

His wounds were easy to clean up: some gauze in his nose, a few Band-Aids for the bigger cuts on his arms and face and he was good as new. Well, aside from the bruising. His ribcage was a yellow, blue, and purple collage and his spine was dotted with blue for each of the notches of his vertebrae.  His shoulder was a mess where Bucky had slammed him into the fridge. All of it would heal in a few days.

He washed his face with cold water and finally he felt emptied. All of that tension, discomfort—all of it was gone. He was bare, exposed.

Steve turned off the tap and grabbed the little first aid kit he’d used and a few washcloths. After wetting one of them, he opened the door to Bucky’s bedroom.

Bucky was sitting shirtless on the edge of the futon, silently staring at his dresser with dead eyes. The Winter Soldier’s eyes.

Steve wordlessly got to his knees beside his best friend and began to clean his face with the wet washcloth. Bucky didn’t even look at him. He smoothed Neosporin on Bucky’s cuts and put Band-Aids on his cheek and jaw where they had been split open.

He ignored the heavy scarring that bridged the metal and the skin of Bucky’s shoulder.

Neither of them said anything while Steve salved wounds and washed blood from Bucky’s skin. When he moved to Bucky’s back, he pulled the tweezers from the first aid kit and started gently plucking out the shards of glass from his shoulders and spine, some as big as a fingernail, others smaller than a piece of pencil lead.

It was his fault. All of it. He had been the one to shove Bucky away the first time, the one to feel nothing when they kissed again. The one to start the fight and throw the first punch. The one to cause Bucky pain.

Sitting there in the low light of Bucky’s bedroom, surrounded by bandages and bloody pieces of light bulb, Steve wanted to kiss his best friend. Knowing he had caused Bucky pain ripped at his heart worse than any blade ever could. Only Bucky had been there every time he was sick. Only Bucky had seen him break down when his face was turned away from the rest of the Howlers. Only Bucky knew when it was right just to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder or to sit down beside him and tell him stories about mountains or the sky to distract him from thinking about a dead boy in the flowers or a man who had sucked down his last breath at their feet.

Only Bucky.

He picked out the last piece of glass he could see and placed it down in the lid for the first aid kit with the rest of the shrapnel.  Bucky’s breathing had settled, the curve of his spine more relaxed.

Steve lifted the washcloth and wiped away the blood from Bucky’s back, carefully swiping over the cuts so that they wouldn’t start bleeding all over again. There were so many.

Steve cared more about Bucky than he cared about anyone else in the world.

And all he could do to show it was rest his forehead on the nape of Bucky’s neck and let out a long sigh into the quiet.


	18. Chapter 18

Steve woke in his bed and for a few moments he thought that the previous day had been a dream. It had felt like one. Crashing into the apartment after his run, kissing, fighting, tending to wounds. It was something out of his imagination, surely. Maybe the workout had been real, but—

Steve let out a groan when he rolled over, every muscle in his torso screaming for him to stay still. Yesterday had definitely happened.

He forced himself from bed and put on a pair of sweats and the loosest t-shirt he owned (still with a good fit, because Natasha and Sam had picked his wardrobe) just to try and avoid adding any more discomfort. His eyes were still badly swollen, but he could see out of them now, at least. His nose was in the worst shape, but breathing out of his mouth wasn’t so bad. He could manage.

He shuffled from his bedroom and stopped in the hallway for a moment, staring out into the living room. All of the blood and glass had been cleaned up—there wasn’t a trace of yesterday except that both of the lamps were off.

“Bout time you got up,” Bucky rasped, leaning against the wall at the end of the hall. He had a big mug of steaming coffee in his hand. The red around Bucky’s eyes said he’d just woken up too. His whole face was just a collection of red and purple bruises.

Guilt struck deep in Steve’s heart, but he knew better than to talk about it right now.

“Your friends stopped by,” Bucky continued, smacking his lips after a sip of coffee. “Cleaned up the place. Said the neighbors called the cops last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurted out, quickly striding down the hall.

Bucky put up a hand. “If I said I didn’t deserve all of that, I’d be lyin’.”

“No. You didn’t deserve any of—“

“Steve. Stevie.” Bucky smiled at him, then reached up to ruffle his hair playfully. “Stop worryin’. Just have some breakfast. You had a long night.”

“You did too,” Steve argued.

Bucky snorted. “And I’ve eaten breakfast. Get in there and have your oatmeal.”

Reluctantly, Steve slipped by and into the kitchen. Clearly, they weren’t going to talk about what led up to last night. Or maybe they were, just not right now.

God, the guilt was going to kill him. Bucky was hurt and that was his fault. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Apologizing wouldn’t even scratch the surface of what he’d done. Bucky had always protected him from bigger boys with bigger fists. Steve had become one of those boys, and he’d just turned around and beat Bucky.

“You okay?” Bucky said quietly as he entered the kitchen.

Steve hadn’t opened the packet of oatmeal in his hands. He quickly tore the packet and emptied the contents into his cereal bowl.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I know it doesn’t mean anything but—“

Bucky shook his head. “It does mean something.” He gingerly leaned against the counter, placing his metal hand over Steve’s bowl.

Steve reluctantly looked up at him. He had two black eyes.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“Buck, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry ab—“

“God, don’t I?” Bucky’s eyes had so much hurt, so much pain. “I…I can’t even believe what I did. Putting my mouth on you—and last night, god, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Steve swallowed hard, shutting his eyes tight. Both of them were raw right now, but Bucky feeling bad about this just made him feel so much worse. What Bucky had done had been wrong, but it hadn’t necessarily felt that way. It was just…Steve didn’t know how to put it into words.

“So, what are we gonna do now?” Steve murmured. Speaking in anything louder than a whisper seemed like a bad idea.

Bucky just smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Water under the bridge, Stevie. I won’t try anything like that ever again. Ever.”

For some reason, that wasn’t as relieving as Steve had thought it would be. His mouth pressed into a hard line. Having his friendship with Bucky meant everything to him, but…something was lacking now.

“I don’t…” Steve huffed out a breath. “Do you feel that way about me? Do you…do you still want to kiss me?” Saying ‘kiss’ to Bucky just reminded him of nights spent whispering about girls when they were ten. It made his chest knot up.

Bucky’s face paled a little. He looked afraid of telling the truth.

“It’s okay, Buck. Your still my best friend either wa—“

“I don’t know when it started,” Bucky blurted out. “Maybe it was always there, but I don’t know. I didn’t…In Brooklyn we were together all the time. I always knew where you were, where to look if you didn’t come home on time. Whenever I walked by everyone in town always let me know if they saw you gettin’ into trouble.” He ran his flesh hand through his long hair with a sigh. “I never felt like I wanted to kiss you or nothin’. You were more than just my best friend—everyone could see that. But it wasn’t…I never wanted anything from ya. Never, okay?”

Steve nodded quickly, slowly trying to face his friend. He and Bucky had always been closer than other best friends. Most people called them brothers. They knew everything about each other. It was never odd to share a bed in winter or comfort each other when something went sour. “I understand.”

“And during the war n’ all, I never wrote you ‘cause I never wanted you to feel like you were missin’ out. And I never wanted to get ya scared or nothin’.” Oddly enough, Steve hadn’t ever really expected a letter from Bucky in the first place. It was just some kind of unspoken agreement. “When I got captured…It’s fuzzy, but I remember gettin’ beat on by this fella from HYDRA and I was glad it was me and not you. The whole time I was glad you weren’t there because you woulda stuck up for me and gotten yourself killed.”

Bucky was struggling, and Steve could hear it in his voice. “Buck,” he said. “Let’s sit down. I want to hear this—you don’t have to be nervous.”

That got a chuckle. “You’re gonna be in a second, I promise.”

Steve smiled. “I know this is awkward and it’s a conversation I never thought we would ever have, but we need to talk about it.” Yes, that sounded like he’d said the right thing for once. “I need to know.”

To explain why Bucky kissed him. To explain why Bucky thought it was okay to kiss him. To explain his own feelings, maybe.

They moved to the table and sat down. Almost immediately, Bucky started picking at the wood. It was then that Steve realized their old table had been replaced. The splintered wood of the old one had been cleaned up and replaced with a replica table. And he’d slept through that.

“So…” Bucky started again. “When you found me on that table, I couldn’t believe it. You…” He laughed, that curl coming to his lips when he smiled. “You were big. You were strong, you were you. But I lost you too.”

“You didn’t lose me,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I did. We got back to that camp and all of a sudden you were someone else. I was…jealous, I guess. But not ‘cause I wanted to be like you or nothin’. I was jealous ‘cause it wasn’t fair that people only started seein’ you for you ‘cause you gained a few pounds and could punch a fella through a wall,” Bucky said. “I was jealous ‘cause other people started comin’ up to you wantin’ to be your best friend.”

Steve knew that Bucky had felt that way. He’d said it one other time before, when the both of them were keeping watch one night. It was bitterly cold and their tiny, shielded (literally) fire seemed to be more for giving light than providing any warmth. Bucky had been cleaning his sniper. _“It’s okay to take watch with someone else, ya know. Don’t gotta keep pickin’ me to make me feel better.”_ Steve had been shocked that Bucky would think he would pick anyone else to spend the hours with. Watch was their only time to catch up and debrief the day’s events.

“Was that when it started then?” Steve asked.

“What—Jesus, no. No!”

Steve flushed. “I’m sorry, I just thought that was where you were going with that…”

Bucky laughed, but it was clearly just to ease the tension. “No, no, it’s okay. Anyway, things get real spotty after that, but I never…I know I never wanted nothin’ from you. I wanted you to get on with Peggy and I know you were sweet on her.”

He went quiet and Steve cocked his head a little. “And then…?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I don’t really know. Everything is all blurry in my head. Feels like I’m closing my eyes on a spin wheel. “ He paused, and Steve saw a flash of pain in his features. He immediately reached out, grabbing Bucky’s wrist.

“You don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay.”

Bucky shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I—None of it matters. I remember being in some country with a big market and you found me there. Except, I wasn’t really me like I am now. I remember coming here and the Hoffman mission.” He swallowed thickly. “And…I think that was where it started. I _never_ wanted anything with you like I did with broads—and I still don’t,” he added quickly. “But when he—when _I_ —thought of pulling you in like that, it was because I was trained to come up with the best cover no matter what. I wasn’t thinking about you as you—at least, I don’t think so. Maybe he was, I dunno.”

Discomfort started churning in Steve’s stomach again, and his hand slipped from Bucky’s wrist. He didn’t seem to notice.

“But when I kissed you, it was different. I dunno how to explain it.  Like, ya know how close we are ‘n everything. That just…it gave me what I felt like I was missin’ or somethin’. I wasn’t me—goddamn it I’ll just say it— _he_ started feelin’ things. Like what you and I feel with dames. That was how I could break through, because…because both of us cared about you. In different ways, ‘course.”

“So then why did you—“

“I’m gettin’ to that, Rogers,” Bucky said, a hint of a smirk on his lips to let him know that he wasn’t trying to be mean, but that he didn’t want to be interrupted. Steve nodded curtly.

“I don’t even know when he started feelin’ things,” Bucky continued, pushing the hair out of his face. God did his black eyes look bad. “I think it was after the first time I punched through—after that bastard shot ya. I don’t know. His stuff is a mess up here.” Bucky tapped his temple. “Anyways, after the train was when I came back for good. But like I told ya, it’s both of us. I got his stuff too, but there isn’t much personality in a guy like that.” Bucky licked his lips, a sign of extreme nervousness.

“And then…I started seein’ you different. I got nervous when you were gone, and you were takin’ good care a me and I just…” He looked away in shame. “When…When you came back that day, all soakin’ wet and scared as hell. I thought I saw somethin’. I thought…” He trailed off.

Steve couldn’t allow Bucky to feel like he was the only one to blame. Except he didn’t know how to say it without feeling even guiltier about what he felt for Bucky. About Bucky.

He couldn’t get a word out.

“Steve, don’t look like that. Please.” Bucky bit hard on his lip. “I know how wrong it is. I’m tryin’ not to feel like this. I know how much it makes you upset and I’m real sorry I did what I did. “

Steve shook his head slowly. “Bucky, you have two black eyes because of me. I can’t forgive myself for that.”

“Rogers, if you woulda come at me like that and I didn’t want it, I probably woulda done the same thing.” Bucky passed a hand over his face, and Steve caught a rare blush on his cheeks. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“I…” Steve’s throat closed up before he could say anything. Almost like his body was trying to tell him that this was a horrible idea and he needed to stop right now. Saying anything would just leave Bucky to think it was okay to do what he’d done and it wasn’t. It wasn’t.

“Just tell me,” Bucky murmured. “I can take it.”

Bucky thought he was going to call him a pervert of a fairy.  The two things he’d sworn he wasn’t. And he hadn’t been before.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve said weakly.

Bucky’s face fell to his usual soothing one. “Stevie, you don’t gotta do anything. I’ll get over this. I just want you with me, like always.”

Steve hung his head. Bucky was blaming himself for all of this and none of it was his fault. It was Steve’s fault for hurting him and making him feel like he was doing something wrong when Bucky had every right to—

Bucky put a gentle hand on his forearm. He only flinched a little.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, Stevie. You ain’t very good at lettin’ things stew.”

Maybe it was the tone of Bucky’s voice, or maybe he just needed to say it so badly he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Buck—“ No, using Bucky’s name made it to friendly, too comfortable. And Steve wasn’t comfortable at all. He took a breath. “I can’t work it out.”

“Can’t work what out? Just say it. Just say it.”

Steve shut his eyes. He couldn’t look at Bucky while he was talking about this. “I don’t know when it started. I think it was when we went to that barn. I…” God, it was so shameful. “I want to be close to you. But not…I don’t know.” Another breath to gather himself. “It’s so wrong. I feel so disgusting about all of it but I still want it.” Saying ‘want it’ made him squirm. “Not…I don’t know how to explain…”

“I’m not gonna get offended. I’m not gonna do anything. I need to know, though. I need to know what’s goin’ on in there,” Bucky soothed.

Steve swallowed hard, trying to calm his heartbeat down. “Yesterday, when I was running back here, I thought…I thought about holding hands with you, like those couples.” God, this was so embarrassing! “And sometimes when you…sometimes I just want to be close to you. We’ve always been close. During the war we were inseparable, before that we were inseparable too, but the war made us even closer. I saw men die with you. I saved lives with you. And every night I always knew you’d be in my tent or in a foxhole with me. Everyone else did too and after you…after you were gone I didn’t know what to do with myself. We lost men before, but when I lost you…”

Funny, he hadn’t even realized it until he started talking about it. “I lost a part of me. A big part. And when I found you again…” I made him a little emotional just thinking about it. Bucky had come so far from that murderous man he’d found in Turkey. “I was just so happy. I thought that you’d just come back and nothing would change. Part of me still thinks everything’ll go back to how it was but I know we’re both different now. I’m not wishing that anymore.”

Bucky gave him a small smile. “It’s okay to wish that. Sometimes I wish you were still a scrawny kid, ya know. I wish you never saw what you had to see back then.”

Steve pressed his lips into a tight smile. Sometimes he wished Bucky had never seen that stuff either. “The war’s over now. And now we’re supposed to live differently than before. We—“ He laughed. “—actually have money now. Money for a flat with more than one bedroom. Sharing a bed is…everyone assumes that we’re together. Like a couple.”

“But you don’t want that,” Bucky said, but he didn’t sound upset or anything.

Steve frowned. “I don’t know what I want right now, Buck. Everything is completely conflicted. I don’t sleep as well without you. I don’t feel as safe. But I don’t…I don’t want…I don’t want kissing and—Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky said, speaking just like he did when Steve wasn’t feeling so good. “How about you tell me what you want, huh? Then we’ll talk about what you don’t want.”

“Bucky—“

“Ah-ah,” Bucky said, tapping his arm. “No gettin’ uncomfortable about yourself. Start talkin’.”

Steve looked at him for a moment and Bucky held his gaze with warmth. “I still don’t know about any of this. I—“

“Steven Grant Rogers, tell me what you want. I ain’t gonna get offended or nothin’. What do you want?”

He licked his lips (yes, he mimicked Bucky sometimes without knowing it). “It’s not what I _want_ want. I just like knowing you’re there. I like when you sleep in my bed because it makes me feel safe and like when we used to share way back when. Sometimes when you look at me when I feel…I dunno. Happy. I want more of it but whenever you kiss me it makes me so uncomfortable and I know it shouldn’t because if I feel that way—“

“Hey, hey,” Bucky said gently. “I know you’ve always been queasy ‘bout that kinda stuff. I shouldn’t have pushed you, I shoulda known better. That was my fault.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, shaking his head a little. “No. If I feel that way about you I should be able to handle it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Rogers, you’re a trip. It’s not you at all. You don’t want me kissin’ ya, then that’s okay. I won’t do it until you want me to.”

That was an unexpected statement from Bucky Barnes. “Bucky, you’ve been with so many girls and gone way beyond kissing ‘em. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Ask me to—Aw Steve.” Bucky slumped in his seat to laugh for a moment. “Lemme get this straight first: do you wanna have somethin’ with me? “ His voice turned serious again. “If you want me to be nothin’ but your best pal, then say it. If you want anything more than that, I wanna know.”

That almost made Steve panic again. He knew what he felt for Bucky was more than their friendship had ever been, but admitting it was going to set things in motion he wasn’t ready for. Bile was still stewing in his gut and he felt a little bit sick thinking about what saying ‘yes’ could lead to. He wasn’t ready for that.

But he had never been able to lie to Bucky Barnes.

“More,” he forced himself to say. One word was about all he could muster.

Never before had he seen Bucky’s face light up like it did then. There was so much happiness in his eyes, and relief.  “Okay,” he said, like he’d just scored a pack of baseball cards for a penny. “Okay.” He reached forward to put his hand on Steve’s arm again.

Steve wanted to pull back from it and he knew Bucky could see that, but he didn’t. He didn’t even know what it was anymore, but he didn’t want to be treated like one of Bucky’s girls.

Maybe he should have said ‘just friends’.

Bucky took his hand away and didn’t look hurt at all. “Steve, I’m not gonna treat you like a dame. This ain’t a fuckin’ romance. You’re my best friend first. Always.”

Steve smiled sheepishly. Bucky always knew exactly what to say.

“You don’t want me to kiss you? Fine. I won’t. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. If that’s what it’s gonna be like for the rest of our lives, that’s okay ‘cause I just wanna be with you, ya punk.”

Steve was warm all over again, his features softening. “Buck, I’m not gonna ask you to do that. I just need time. I’m not ready. You don’t deserve—“

“Steve,” Bucky said firmly. “I know I don’t deserve _you_. And that ain’t some lovey dovey crap—I mean it. I never deserved ya, Stevie.”

“That wasn’t what—“

Bucky put up his hand. “I ain’t done.” He waited for Steve to frown and slouch in his seat again. “You know what? I don’t think I’m ready either. We grew up around fellas who liked fellas, but I got no clue about any a this. But what I do know is that I feel the same way about you as you feel about me. So I ain’t waitin’. We’re gonna do this together, just like we do everything.”

Steve wanted so badly to fall into this. To pretend this wasn’t something that people got put in jail for and beaten up over. Maybe the jail part wasn’t true anymore, but he wasn’t going to let anyone lay a hand on Bucky because of his selfish—and downright wrong—desire to be with him.

“I can’t let anything happen to you, Buck.”

“Then we’ll keep it a secret.” Bucky looked like he’d rehearsed this.

“That’s not fair. It’s different now, we could be open about it…”

Bucky cocked a brow. “You don’t look like a fella who wants to be open about this. Tell you the truth, I don’t wanna be open about it either.”

Steve sighed. “My friends deserve to know. But…”

“You don’t wanna tell ‘em.”

He nodded slowly. It wasn’t because he was embarrassed about Bucky, but he really didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t want Bucky to be in danger or ridiculed or anything like that. He didn’t even know how everyone would take it. Tony would probably laugh himself off the face of the planet.

“Well,” Bucky said, “We don’t have to keep it a secret from them, but we don’t have to tell ‘em. Let them figure it out just like we’re gonna figure it out.”

It was easy to agree when Bucky looked so sure, though Steve could see just an inkling of uncertainty in his eyes. Bucky was trying to be strong for the both of them, just like always.

“Okay,” Steve said. “Let’s do that.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it again.

“Spit it out, Rogers.”

He licked his lips again. “I mean, do you …do you want me to call you somethin’? Like are—are we boyfriends?”

Bucky laughed. “I ain’t your boyfriend. I’m your best friend.” He reached across the table and ruffled Steve’s hair with his metal hand, likely because his right arm was too stiff and bruised. “An’ right now we’re somethin’, but we gotta figure it out first. Speakin’ of which, I want you to tell me when somethin’ I do makes you feel awful.”

“I will,” Steve promised.

Bucky shot him a look. “I know all of this feels uncomfortable, ‘cause I feel it too. But it’s just ‘cause we aren’t used to it. What I’m talkin’ about is when it feels real bad. Like when I kiss ya or somethin’. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said shakily. They’d been doing a lot of talking. “I’ll tell you.”

“Here,” Bucky murmured, pushing his coffee mug across the table. “Drink somethin’. I won’t grill ya anymore.”

It was Steve’s turn to give Bucky a look. “You weren’t grilling me. I was going to spend the whole day jumpin’ outta my skin otherwise. I needed this.”

“I did too.” Bucky moved to stand up, but Steve caught his arm.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. Carefully, he ran his thumb once over the bump of Bucky’s wrist. It didn’t feel anything but good.

Bucky smiled before slipping his arm away to walk toward the cupboard. Steve brought the coffee mug to his lips, sipping at the warm liquid that helped to soothe the aches somehow. Maybe it was because he knew it was coffee Bucky had made for himself, but gave it to him because…of something else.

“C’mere, ya punk.” Bucky hooked his flesh arm around Steve’s head unexpectedly, pulling him to his chest. “You worry too much. Leave that to me, huh?”

Steve growled as metal knuckles affectionately dug into his hair. This was pure Bucky. He reached up a hand to claw at Bucky’s metal arm, but both of them were a little sluggish because of their injuries.

He let out a sigh after a moment, and Bucky’s hold loosened. Steve tilted his head back, his eyes clouded as he looked up at the man he cared about most.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. His heart was slamming in his chest because this was a new tone, a softer one than he ever used with Bucky—even on the rare occasion where it had been Steve taking care him when he was sick.

“Steve,” Bucky said equally as gently. “Stop apologizing.”

He bit his lip. “You’re hurt. I can’t let that go.”

Bucky gave him a crooked smile, one that reached his eyes and made them somehow even happier. “I’m lookin’ at you with a fucked up nose and your tryin’ to tell me you’re the one who’s sorry. We’re even. Got it?”

Steve met his eyes. They were as blue as ever, in stark contrast to Bucky’s darker features. The long hair was still new, but Steve liked it.  “Got it.”

Bucky’s smile quirked and he gave Steve’s chest a rub before slipping his arms away. Steve found himself smiling like a fool when he took another sip of coffee. There wasn’t one part of him that felt uncomfortable or nervous anymore. All of this was new and all of it was strange to him, but Bucky had never once let him down. The nervousness would come back, he knew, but for now he could pretend.

After all, they were still just best friends.


	19. Chapter 19

The wood floor of their apartment was more worn than Steve remembered it being. The couch was also more lumpy than usual. It wasn’t very comfortable to sit on alone.

Bucky had slept in his room the night after their conversation, and Steve had been a little bit anxious about it.  For some reason it just seemed nerve-wracking because they were something more now. Did Bucky expect to sleep in his arms? Did he expect Steve to sleep in his? His heart had gone to his throat the moment Bucky let out a long sigh; the one that meant it was time to sleep.

But Bucky had just plucked the file of another ex-SHIELD operative from his hands, placed it on the side table, gave him a fond look, and promptly turned his back to him.

They slept back-to-back, just like always.

Then they woke up, ate breakfast together. Went to the dock, walked around the shops and pretended to be interested in things they’d seen fifty times before. It was just like things had always been. So much so that Steve had begun to think that maybe Bucky didn’t really think of him as more than a friend at all. Maybe he didn’t either. Maybe their conversation had just been something to put aside the new feelings they’d developed or something.

And then Steve had decided to buy a Coke, but wanted to look around a little more before he bought it. He didn’t’ like eating food in a store—he always had a slight fear of someone accusing him of stealing. But when he was ready to pay, Bucky was already at the counter, getting his change back. He’d shot Steve a crooked grin and handed over the drink.

Steve hadn’t felt his heart beat so fast in years.

Now, Steve picked at the seam on the couch, looking toward Bucky’s room every time he head the muffled sounds of laughter from inside. Worry was knotted in his gut, even though he knew laughter was a good thing.

Bruce’s arrival had been unexpected. It was supposed to be that way. Bucky couldn’t be aware of when the psych evaluation would occur.

Steve wished he wouldn’t have gone to sleep so early last night. He didn’t anticipate the psych evaluation going badly, but there was always a chance. It was just the first of many too—Bruce had made that clear in his quick introduction before taking Bucky back into his bedroom. Steve wasn’t allowed to observe, or listen in.

Another laugh echoed and Steve took another breath, settling into the couch some more. He closed his eyes, and for a fleeting moment he could feel Bucky’s warmth again.

There had been an action movie on TV the night before and Steve had made popcorn. Not much happened at night in town, so movies were something they could do that reminded them that there was a bigger world out there, they just didn’t have to face it.

When Bucky put an arm around him, it hadn’t felt odd at all. Just being close, that was all he needed. Just being close.

Every time he remembered it though, there was a bit of unease mixed into his affection. Every memory was viewed in third person. He saw himself leaned against Bucky’s shoulder, smiling at the stupid comments Bucky was making about the movie’s realism ( _“So we’re s’posed to believe a guy like that can beat up twenty young guys? Gimme a break!”_ ). That part of him that always looked away from public affection reared up and a venomous voice in his head would sharply reprimand him. Watching that outside view of himself made Steve’s breath go shallow, and not in a good way.

 _You’re not a fairy,_ the voice in his head would hiss. _You ain’t a limp-wristed queer._ Every time he assured himself he wasn’t, that this relationship with Bucky was in some other category. But his thoughts still grated at him every time he thought about it. He decided he didn’t want Bucky to put him arm around him anymore. Steve wanted to be the one putting his arm around Bucky and have Bucky leaning into the side of _his_ chest.

Steve still had the part of himself that absolutely and completely hated being considered too weak or dainty. This relationship with Bucky made him ill if he thought back to the boys who had called him filthy names and insinuated he was one of the “perverts” who liked men. Even living in a neighborhood where some men felt comfortable enough to hold hands in public, the boys living in the nooks and crannies were poisonous snakes waiting to strike any young fella who looked too…queer.

He didn’t want to prove them right. It was stupid and he knew it, but it didn’t change the fact that he just didn’t want them to be right. All of those boys were probably dead by now, yet Steve still thought one of them might recognize him on the street and call him a liar.

He could remember being brought to tears once, huddled behind a dumpster. Nobody had beat on him that day; there had been no fighting. Just a group of snickering kids saying he had to be a faggot because he looked too much like a broad. _“Puttin’ soot on your eyelashes, fairy? You wearin’ lipstick today?”_

Oh, how he’d snapped at them. They were kids, yet they were as tall as he was. But no matter how viciously he told them that he wasn’t what they were calling him, the more they believed just the opposite.

An endless cycle that Steve could never win. Whenever Bucky was around, few people ever dared to make a comment simply because they knew “that boy James”—as the gossipy women in town referred to him—would beat them all silly if they so much as looked at Steve wrong.

He still didn’t think Bucky realized how much worse it had made it when he was alone. Stuffed into trashcans with berating comments about Bucky not being there. His ‘special fella’ or whatever they called him.

No, he never wanted to prove one of those boys right.

“—fishing was your type, doc,” Bucky said, snapping Steve from his thoughts.

He jumped up from the couch, eager to hear the news. Bucky and Bruce were talking though, so he tried to look like he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop or anything, even though they were all in the same room.

“It’s relaxing,” Bruce said with a shrug. “But I mean it, if you ever want to, we can go fishing. Tony has boats that have unrestricted access. There’s lots of good fishing spots. You just can’t keep the fish.”

“I might have to take you up on that. I just wanna catch some big whopper, ya know? Take a picture or somethin’. Hang it on the wall.”

“Well, the ocean has a lot of those. I’m sure we could find something.”

“Ya know, I’ve always wanted to live somewhere where you can fish.  Like down south or somethin’. Real nice people in the South, mostly. I just liked it ‘cause it was quiet.” Bucky gave a noncommittal shrug, as if he wasn’t referring to a time when he’d been a human weapon. “’Course, I started to hate it after awhile. I’ve gotta live in some kinda city, I think.”

Steve had to force himself not to wring his hands.

Thankfully, Bruce seemed to have a sixth sense for tension. “Well, everything looked great,” he said with a smile to Steve. “Of course, we need to do a lot more testing, but that won’t be for a few weeks.”

“So quit worryin’,” Bucky grinned, reaching over to cuff Steve over the head.

Steve let out a long breath, but he still wasn’t sure that Bruce would tell him if anything was wrong anyway. “That’s great to hear. Thank you, Bruce. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

Bruce smiled. “I really need to get back to New York. Speaking of which…Steve, I think you—and Bucky—should consider coming back.”

The room seemed to stop. Returning to New York was something that he wasn’t ready to do. Bucky walking around in a city so full of people, even if it was their true home, was scary to Steve. That, and the media would be watching him constantly. Bucky wouldn’t be able to so much as smile at him before the papers had stories of a love affair. Even if that didn’t happen, if the Avengers found out, they would tease and torment—

“Hey now, I dunno if that’s such a great idea,” Buck said, minutely shifting his weight so that he was putting himself just slightly between Steve and Bruce. “Could trigger somethin’. I don’t wanna risk that.”

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “I know, and that’s perfectly acceptable. I’m merely suggesting it. I think it would be good for the both of you.”

“Do you think Bucky will be ready for that?” Steve asked seriously.

“I do,” Bruce said with a nod. “It would be a good next step. My only concern right now is that this place has become somewhere that Bucky can be himself. A new city will test his abilities to handle stress and what that might do to him.”

The Winter Soldier could come back.  Steve knew it was possible, but these past few weeks had sent that thought to the far reaches of his mind.

“Since it’s my head we’re talkin’ about, I think I get a say. I wanna stay here for now. I’ll see about going back in a few weeks. Next time you come look at my head—assuming you ain’t gonna show up unannounced in a week—I’ll have an answer for ya.” Bucky glanced at Steve, but quickly turned his attention back to Bruce before Steve could catch any meaning in his eyes.

“Of course,” Bruce said with a courteous nod. Then he looked at Steve again, still smiling. “Steve, can I talk to you in the hall?”

Steve immediately tensed. “Anything you need to say, you can say in front of Bucky.”

Bruce shook his head. “There are some questions I have for you that could trigger Bucky if I speak about them. There’s nothing wrong that I can see, but I just want to make sure I’ve talked to both of you.”

“ ‘S all right, Steve,” Bucky said. “I know I’m not perfect up top. Better that you talk to the doc, okay?”

With a tight nod, Steve opened the door to their flat and showed Bruce through. He couldn’t look at Bucky as he stepped out, because that seemed like something people only did in romance movies. Or when people were married.

Bruce was as welcoming a presence as ever once they were alone—Steve could feel himself calming just at the sight of how relaxed he was.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, crossing his arms so he could scratch at the crook of his elbow.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bruce assured him, reaching out to touch Steve’s shoulder. “He really looks like he’s doing well. He recognizes that he was the Winter Soldier and knows about his memories and that they aren’t all there yet.  There are just a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”

The way Bruce said it made Steve’s spine prickle with unease, like Bruce was going to interrogate him and demand to know what kind of relationship he had with Bucky. Surely Bucky hadn’t told him. They had said they were going to keep it a secret!

“Okay, what?”

“Firstly, I want you to help Bucky exercise his ability to cope with experiences he’s had. Clearly, he trusts you more than anyone else, and he needs to face as many of his memories as he can. I’m concerned because he seems too comfortable.” Bruce sighed. “He has done terrible things for HYDRA that I’m sure he remembers. Does he ever have nightmares or night terrors?”

Steve shook his head. “He did awhile ago. I think when he was in a transition period, or when he was trying to break free of the Winter Soldier or something. I check on him a lot at night and I haven’t seen him show signs of any nightmares lately.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “Well, continue to check up on him. This might just be a lull period, but some time or another he’ll have to face this. Be ready for it.”

All of a sudden Steve realized why it might be a good idea to go to New York. He had no idea how to help Bucky through those kinds of things. He would try, but it might not be enough. New York would have Bruce, and hundreds of doctors who could help if something happened. Steve could only do so much where they were and he wanted whatever was best for Bucky.

“And the other thing…” Bruce trailed off. “I want you to understand that I’m telling you this because it is a possibility. I don’t believe it’s what’s happening, but I want you to be aware of it.”

Steve’s stomach started to churn. “I understand.”

Bruce let out a breath. “There is a slight chance that Bucky still is the Winter Soldier. “ The look on Steve’s face prompted him to continue quickly. “The reason there is a chance is because HYDRA is very good at what they do. The Winter Soldier project was their most important intelligence and special operations mission ever attempted. They created the Winter Soldier to infiltrate any environment and destroy it. He’s a better spy than Natasha, and he has been trained better than any Special Forces operator in the history of mankind.”

“That’s Bucky in there,” Steve hissed. “I know my best friend.”

“I know, Steve. And I believe that’s Bucky too. But there’s a chance, however slight, that it isn’t. If it is the Winter Soldier, he will use any methods at his disposal to get close to you and then compromise you. He has no handlers now, but infiltration is part of his nature. The Winter Soldier would do it just to keep himself occupied. Or he might just want to complete his mission.”

Steve refused to believe that possibility. Bruce did not know Bucky like Steve did—especially now—and Steve knew that his best friend was right inside, waiting. Not the Winter Soldier.

“Well, I appreciate you telling me,” he said curtly. “I’ll keep them both in mind.”

Bruce could see the anger in his eyes. “Steve, you have really helped Bucky make phenomenal progress. I wasn’t expecting him to be nearly so…what I assume is back to normal. His health is thanks to you.”

Steve broke into a small smile. “Thanks, Bruce. Really though, he’s helped me too. “

“All right, I need to catch my plane. I’m getting enough frequent flier miles to go on a very nice vacation,” Bruce chuckled. Steve smiled, though he had no idea what frequent flier miles were or how they got Bruce a vacation.

They said their goodbyes and Steve told Bruce to tell everyone hello and that there may be a poker night in their future, courtesy of Sam Wilson.  Bruce promised he would and headed off with a wave. Steve made sure he got to the elevator and headed back inside.

The door had barely shut behind him when Steve was suddenly in Bucky’s arms. The embrace jarred him a little, but Steve hurried to hug back tightly, relishing in the warmth of Bucky’s hold. Something as insignificant as a psych evaluation had reminded him just how thankful he should be to have Bucky here at all.

“You were pale as a ghost,” Bucky murmured as he began to rub his back.

“I thought something was going to be wrong,” Steve whispered, burying his face into Bucky’s shoulder. He smelled like cologne. Not quite the way he used to, but enough that Steve could recognize his scent. “I couldn’t hear anything.”

“Well ‘m okay,” Bucky soothed. “I promise I’m okay, Stevie.”

If he closed his eyes, he could see this scene taking place seventy years ago. Him, small and fragile in Bucky’s arms after a long fight and Bucky a bit battered, but no worse for the wear.

He opened his eyes and all he could see was the edge of Bucky’s sleeve and the shimmering curve of his metal arm and the tip of a faded red star.

“This isn’t quite as comfortable as it was when I was short,” Steve chuckled.

Bucky’s laugh vibrated through Steve’s chest, bringing a smile to his lips. “Yeah, ain’t as comfy for—“

There was a soft knock at the door.

Immediately, Bucky pulled away, dropping his arms to his sides. Steve smoothed down his hair and cleared his throat. Both of them approached the door, but Bucky got to it first.

“Uh, sorry. I left my jacket.” It was Bruce.

“Oh yeah, come on in, doc,” Bucky said with a wide smile. Steve had never noticed how easily Bucky handled conversations. He was always charming and never let on to anything that might be going on outside of the conversation. Steve on the other hand, could be read like and open book.

Bruce came inside and hurried into Bucky’s room.

“He didn’t see,” Bucky said quietly, reaching over to gently take Steve’s hand.

Steve pulled his hand away, glancing toward the hall. Bruce wouldn’t do anything if he saw them, but he might tell someone. Steve wasn’t going to risk that. Not when things were still so new.

“Sorry, Bucky,” he whispered, hoping he hadn’t hurt him by pulling away.

There was something in Bucky’s eyes that he couldn’t place, but he just nodded.

Bruce appeared with his jacket, thanking them both before insisting he had to get to his plane, despite Bucky’s inviting him to stay for dinner.

This time when the door shut, Steve crossed his arms. That had been too close. They had to be more careful, or someone was going to see them. All of this was so much to risk—if people reacted badly to it when they inevitably found out then Bucky could be hurt. He’d heard about gay men (gay was still not a term he really ever used—to Steve it still just meant happy) being mobbed and beaten. Even killed.

“Steve,” Bucky started, but Steve cut him off.

“I just don’t want to put you in danger,” Steve said, looking at the floor. “I can’t let myself put you in danger.”

“Nobody’s in danger,” Bucky said, crossing over to him. “Nobody’s in danger, Steve. It ain’t like it was.”

“It is. Not everywhere, but enough places. And if anyone found out about whatever it is we’re doing, we’re in a national spotlight. The people who would hurt you would be able to find you and—“

“Hey,” Bucky said firmly, putting his hands on Steve’s arms. “You need to stop worryin’ about that. I can handle just as many people as you can in a fight. I’m gonna be just fine and so are you. We’re keepin’ this a secret, but you don’t need to be scared a people findin’ out. If they do, so what? I still got you and you got me. Nothin’s gonna change that.” He brushed back Steve’s hair fondly. “If you’re gonna get this spooked after one little brush with one of your friends, then maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Steve’s heart jumped to his throat all over again. “Buck,” he choked out, “I want this. I just…” He didn’t even know what to say, but he as just so scared of someone hurting Bucky. And of people ridiculing him all over again. Not to mention he had no idea how to be in a relationship or even if this was going to last. Bucky hadn’t even experienced the world for himself yet—there could be a woman right around the corner in their future that knocked Bucky right out of this funk.

“Steve, I want what’s gonna make you happy,” Bucky murmured, thumbing gently at his temple. “If this makes ya too anxious, then I don’t wanna do it.”

Steve shook his head. “I need time.” He nodded to assure himself. “All of this is new. Of course I’m anxious about it—I’ve never been with anyone before. I’ve been on dates, sure, but never…never this. I’m nervous and the fact that this might slip out and cause an uproar makes it worse.”

Bucky didn’t understand how media worked nowadays. No, he probably did.

“Fine,” Bucky said, pulling his hand away to run it through his hair. “We’re gonna go on a date.”

“What?” Steve glanced around the room as though some invisible person might be listening in. “We can’t do that.”

“Well we are. I’m takin’ you on a proper date. Okay, a sorta proper date that ain’t gonna look like a date to other people.” Bucky quirked his lips as he registered what he’d just said, then nodded definitively. “We’re gonna go to a nice place and get somethin’ to eat that ain’t in town, and then we’re gonna go someplace else. It’ll be a surprise.”

Steve shook his head. “No. That’s taking way too much of a risk, especially if we aren’t staying—“

Bucky cut him off with a sharp look. “I’m not gonna hide away. I’m not gonna let you hide away either. Bein’ a secret is one thing, actin’ like we can’t leave the house and look at each other is another thing.”

Steve understood where he was coming from. Now that he was hyper-aware of every time they were near each other, he couldn’t remember what was acceptable for friends to do without suspicions arising. His natural inclination had been to avoid any kind of touching, walking too close, or looking at Bucky for too long.

He swallowed, nodding slowly. “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Even…even right now half of me wants you to stop being so close to me.”

“Jesus,” Bucky whispered, and Steve didn’t miss the hurt in his voice. Bucky stepped back.

“No,” Steve said, moving closer again. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand, awkwardly reaching up to put it on Bucky’s cheek. God, he didn’t know how to do this at all.

Instead of laughing though, Bucky just held his gaze and leaned into the touch. Steve spread his fingers a little more, taking a deep breath.

“Every time we get this close, I’m gonna have to fight those voices telling me that this is wrong. But I gotta push back. I’m going to, but I that’s why I gotta move slow,” Steve murmured. Slowly, he moved his thumb over Bucky’s rough stubble in what he hoped was a comforting gesture and not something similar to trying to wipe something off of Bucky’s face. “Every step is gonna take a lotta fight. But I wanna do it and I’m not gonna give up.”

“You never do,” Bucky said, smiling. “I still wanna take you on a date, though. Maybe just dinner.”

Steve’s chest tightened painfully at the thought, but he nodded anyway. He had to work through it. “I think I can do that.”

Bucky smiled at him with more warmth than Steve thought his heart could handle.

But even though he saw how happy Bucky was right in front of him, it all seemed muffled. This happiness, this joy. Bucky taking an interest in him that wasn’t friendly. The fond looks, the touching of hands. It was too fast. This had only begun and they were already in free fall. Steve was, anyway. There was nothing to grab onto—it had only been a few days and already they were going on dates. Bucky was touching his face like lovers did and that wasn’t what they were yet, right? Right?

Maybe Bruce was the one who was right. Maybe all of this was the Winter Soldier making Steve into the ultimate ally. The one who could be dragged into anything if he ever admitted to loving his best friend.

Steve slipped his hand from Bucky’s face with a deep breath.

Within a matter of moments, he had gone from loving this to a sick feeling in his chest that no amount of Bucky could rid him of. He wanted out already. He wanted out as much as he wanted in.

It wasn’t fair, but maybe it was the right thing to do.


	20. Chapter 20

Steve was nervous the moment he woke up on the day of their date. He had no idea where they were going to eat at, but he was going to guess it was either a burger joint or some place fancy because Bucky knew him better than anyone. Steve was a sucker for what was now called ‘fast food,’ and anything with flavoring really made his mouth water. Half the time he ate things he still expected army rations or tasteless mush in a can like they used to eat. Porridge scraped out of cans for breakfast, cold porridge scraped out of cans for lunch.

The whole day, he’d tried to think about what would be acceptable to do on a date. He couldn’t stare at Bucky for too long, they couldn’t hold hands. Maybe they could brush feet under the table but the concept of Bucky rubbing his leg to show affection as downright strange, regardless of Bucky’s gender. He had never understood how that was something affectionate to do.

“You gonna get ready or what?” Bucky said, stepping into his bedroom.

Steve’s eyes turned to saucers because Bucky was standing there shirtless with dog tags dangling against his chest. His mouth went dry and he quickly looked away.

Bucky laughed. “Jesus, Steve. I’d expect that reaction if I were a naked whore comin’ in here, but jeeze.”

Steve’s face flushed and he tried to bury himself in his current work file so Bucky wouldn’t see. Of course he’d seen Bucky with his shirt off before, but not since…Not since feelings for each other had been discussed.

“Where’d you find your dog tags?” he asked quickly, turning a page in his file.

“Eh, they were in my bag. They ain’t the ones I used to wear, I think they’re new. They feel good though. Feels familiar like. All of that,” Bucky said with a nonchalant shrug. “So, you gonna get ready?”

Steve cleared his throat, avoiding looking in Bucky’s direction at all as he went over to his dresser. He was not going to take his shirt off while Bucky’s was off. That was asking for trouble that he didn’t want.

There was a sigh from behind him. “Just get ready. I’ll be in my room,” Bucky muttered.

Steve waited until he heard Bucky’s door shut before he moved to pull off his shirt. He supposed this place was going to be somewhat dressy, so he dug out a button-up and a pair of khaki slacks. Then he opened up his underwear drawer for an undershirt and a tie, as well as a pair of socks.

He paused because the weight was off, and pulled apart the socks. Inside was a little bottle of cologne. Right, he’d forgotten all about that. He brought the bottle to his nose, only catching a faint whiff of the musky scent.

He promptly stuffed it back the drawer to select another pair of socks.

Once he was changed, he checked his appearance in the mirror, making sure his collar was folded over correctly and his hair wasn’t out of order.  A quick look in the closet produced a belt and tie. His leather jacket was going to have to do because the only suit jacket he had was the one from the Hoffman mission.

When he stepped out of his bedroom, he hadn’t expected Bucky to be in the corridor, leaned against the wall and waiting for him.

Bucky’s hair was tied back in a tiny ponytail that settled at the nape of his neck. Not all of it was secured though, so there were wisps of dark brown that loosely framed Bucky’s face.  Having his hair tied back made him look older somehow. No—maybe he just looked more mature.

He was also wearing a leather jacket, but a black one, unlike Steve’s brown. Bucky had a tendency toward black clothing now—he also had on a black button-up and silky tie of the same color. It was a good look, but Steve didn’t say it.

And when Bucky looked up at him, his eyes were all the more striking with the dark contrast of his outfit. His smile was downright dazzling.

“Hey, look at you,” Bucky chuckled with a fondness in his gaze.

“I didn’t know if it was going to be fancy or not…” Steve looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, you look real swell,” Bucky said, moving forward to fuss with his collar.

Steve’s nostrils instinctively flared in a telltale sign that he had no idea how he was supposed to react to this. The hard swallow that came afterward was also in line with that feeling—it was one Bucky knew well.

Oh, Bucky was wearing real cologne tonight. Not the shower gel scent.

“Your hair’s up,” Steve said dumbly.

Bucky laughed, still fixing his collar even though Steve knew it had been straight when he’d left his room. “Yeah, it is. You like it?”

Steve opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything for a moment. He settled with “yeah.”

Bucky paused and looked up at him, the corner of his lips curling up in a small smile. “If I told you I wanted to kiss you right now, would that make ya queasy?”

The question was posed so softly, so innocently that Steve almost ignored what had actually been said. He pursed his lips a little. Bucky would not kiss him, he knew. Bucky would never knowingly cause him that kind of discomfort. But the question implied that Bucky did really want to kiss him right now and that made Steve immediately anxious.

“I’m already queasy,” he said weakly, unable to meet Bucky’s eyes to see the hurt there.

“Steve, don’t get upset,” Bucky murmured. “C’mere.”

Bucky wrapped his arms slowly around him and Steve slowly returned the hold. He hated that this was how it always ended up—with Bucky taking the man’s role. Steve was not a woman! He could hold Bucky just as easily as Bucky held him! But it never ended up that way. It was always Bucky being the man and Steve stuck looking like a flustered tomboy dame.

He knew Bucky didn’t mean it to be degrading, but maybe that made it worse. Either way, Steve knew Bucky had put a lot of planning into this dinner (he hadn’t let Steve listen in when he made reservations or anything) so he wasn’t going to bring it up now.

“I’m excited for this,” Steve murmured. The only kind of physical affection he could handle was embracing. It was the one thing they had always done before this that he could handle doing in private with a bit more of an intimate air.

“Good.” Bucky smiled, smoothing his hair down and stepping back. “Let’s go, then.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Steve probably looked just as stunned as he felt walking up to the restaurant. It was a very fancy looking seafood place with a deck on the back that extended out over the water. He could tell it was fancy by the craftsmanship of the golden marlin over the door, matching with the gold lettering of the name: “Water’s Edge”. Dark stained wood and gold were the theme of the entire place, as well as the old fishing nets and Edison bulbs strung along above the deck.

“Bucky,” Steve said, glancing over at him as he got off of his bike. “This is the kind of place I go to with Tony Stark. You don’t have to pay all of this—“

“Ah-ah,” Bucky said, pointing a finger at him. “No worryin’ about cash. I got everything covered.”

Steve gave him a skeptical look, but didn’t say anything as they headed inside.

The interior was more extravagant than the outside, somehow. More Edison bulbs hung from the ceiling, but in crooked chandeliers that gave the impression that they were on an old, fancy pirate ship. Marine décor covered the walls, but not in the cheesy way that Steve had seen in touristy places he had visited on missions with the team. This place was completely sophisticated, with classy black tables and lacquered wood floors. Black and white pictures of men and giant fish were ornately framed on the walls, with small gold plaques underneath telling who had caught what and how big it was.

“Reservation for James,” Bucky said to the man at the front.

“Ah, yes. Welcome to Water’s Edge, Mr. James,” the man said with a polite dip of his head and a smile. “Would you like to sit inside or in our spacious outdoor area?”

Bucky gave a little shrug and looked at Steve. Steve blinked and shrugged back.

“We’ll do inside. It’s a little windy out there.”

“Excellent choice, sir,” the man said, plucking two menus from underneath the counter. “Right this way.”

He led them back through the crowded dining area in the front to the back where tables were spread wider apart and they looked to be just a bit bigger.

They were seated close to a wall, with a view outside and a good view of other patrons at the restaurant. Steve noticed Bucky glancing around, and it took a moment for him to realize that he was taking note of all of the doors and windows. Escape routes, just like the Winter Soldier had made note of.

They sat down and their host returned a moment later with a bottle of wine, compliments of the restaurant. Steve was no sommelier, but he’d been to enough dinners with Tony to know that smooth, bubbly wine was expensive. He glanced at Bucky, who was content to smirk at all of Steve’s facial expressions, it seemed.

“Your waitress will be around shortly for your appetizer orders. I highly recommend our calamari,” their host said before placing the bottle of wine down on the table and giving them a short bow before heading back to the entrance.

“Bucky, this is wonderful,” Steve murmured, looking around at the pictures on the wall beside them.

“Ya think so? I wasn’t sure it would be what you wanted. We haven’t eaten seafood in a long time. Well, not together.” Bucky shrugged, pouring more wine into his glass before taking a long sip. “Jesus, this is good wine.”

Steve grabbed his own glass and took a sip. It went down smooth. A little too dry for his liking (Steve’s perfect wine would just taste like grape juice), but it was very nice. He nodded in agreement.

They ordered the calamari and had finished all of it by the time their waitress, Gabrielle, came around to see how they were doing.

She refilled their wine glasses and looked at Steve. “So, what’s the occasion?”

He smiled. “We haven’t gone out to eat in a long time. Tonight just seemed like the night.”

“Ooh. Well that’s wonderful,” Gabrielle said with a wide grin. She had the whitest teeth Steve had ever seen.

“What kind of wine is this?” Bucky asked, tapping the side of his glass. “It’s great.”

Gabrielle laughed. “It’s Dom Pérignon 2004 Vintage.”

Steve had heard that name before—and only around Tony. “That’s expensive, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Very. We have a few bottles of 1976 in the back that are worth a couple thousand dollars. But anyone who comes here with a recommendation from Mr. Stark gets the very best.”

Steve shot Bucky a look.

Bucky’s lips curled to a sly grin. “I just asked him where we should eat. That’s all, I swear.” He turned to Gabrielle. “So how come you didn’t give us the 1976?”

“Bucky!”

“What? Calm down, Stevie, I’m just askin’,” Bucky said with a chuckle.

“Well, Mr. Stark asked us to keep a few bottles here for him should he ever visit. If you’d like me to open one—“

“No, no,” Steve shook his head. “Tony has been generous enough to us, we don’t need anything else.”

Bucky winked at her. “You heard’im. I guess we should order now, huh?”

“If you’d like to, certainly,” Gabrielle said with a nod, pulling out her notepad. “What would you like?”

“I’ll take the swordfish. Never had that before. Is it any good?”

“Phenomenal. All of our fish are caught less than 24 hours before they’re placed on a plate. Our ocean stock arrives by train each morning from our quality suppliers. It’s a fantastic dish.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, smiling over at Steve. “Well that sounds swell. I’ll take it. What do you want, Stevie?”

“Uh…” Steve had been too busy talking to Bucky to look down at the menu.

“You like lobster, don’tcha?” Bucky asked, pointing at his menu. “Or the stuffed flounder. I brought that home once. If you liked that shitty fish, this oughta blow your mind.”

Bucky had brought it home wrapped in a piece of cloth. A big flat fish, cut into a few white slabs of meat. A gift from a fisherman that Bucky had helped out at the docks. They had to use their tiny oven to cook it, and Steve was pretty sure they’d cooked it wrong, but they had both felt like kings when they finally sat down to eat it.

“I’ll get the stuffed flounder,” Steve decided.

“Great choice,” Gabrielle said with a nod. “Would either of you like anything else?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, handing over his menu and smiling at her. “We’ll take that lobster too.”

“Bucky,” Steve said in a warning tone.

Bucky just shrugged. “We’ll share it. I promise if you don’t eat it, I will.”

Gabrielle added the lobster to their order and walked back toward the kitchen. Steve lost his politeness and shot Bucky another glare. “Tony? Really?”

“Well I wasn’t going to ask you and ruin the surprise,” Bucky said, smiling around his wine glass.

“How did you even get his number? It’s on my phone, not yours.”

“I asked the doc for it. I had to call him anyway, he wants to look at my arm.” Bucky lifted his metal hand and wiggled his fingers. Steve hadn’t realized it, but Bucky hadn’t once lifted that hand since they had arrived. “Hey, look.”

Steve turned just as the man who’d shown them in walked by with two older men. They wore fancy suits and both had on glasses. The first man had dark hair and thin wire frames, and the other with grey hair and thick black ones. They were seated a few tables away near a far window.

“What?” Steve looked at Bucky for an explanation.

Bucky took another sip of wine and stole a crumb off of the calamari plate. “Just watch. Try to be a little more obvious, I’m sure that’ll help.”

“Shut up,” Steve growled, grabbing his own glass of wine.

He set it down when he saw the two men intertwine their fingers.

Steve had seen gay men showing affection in public many times before—both before and after the war. But now it made him feel like the walls were closing in around him. Not because of the men, but because now there was pressure. Bucky was looking at him because Bucky wanted that.

“No,” Steve said as firmly as he could. “We said we were going to keep this a secret until we figured out what this was.”

“I know.” Then, softer, “I know that. Steve…just this once. Nobody knows us. Nobody knows—“

“You involved Tony in this,” Steve interrupted. “If they don’t have it figured out already, they’re going to. If one thing gets on the Internet, Bucky, then everything is going to blow up.”

Bucky passed a hand over his face with a sigh. “Why do you worry about that so much? Look at those guys. They’re sittin’ there holdin’ hands ‘n stuff and nobody’s treated ‘em any different.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “Because those guys can do whatever they want and nobody cares. I can’t and you can’t either. Most people don’t even know you’re alive, Buck. I see the things those magazines write about my friends and me. It’s worse than gossip because if they say it enough, the entire world believes it’s true.”

“The only thing I care about is whether or not you believe it,” Bucky said. “I’m not worried about what the papers say. I’m not worried about gettin’ caught with you.”

“That’s not what you said when we talked about it,” Steve countered. “You said you weren’t comfortable with telling people about it.”

“I still don’t know if it’s right,” Bucky confessed. “I feel filthy ‘n all that when I look at you sometimes and know I ain’t just thinkin’ a you as a friend.  And when you told me about how people would react if we let them know about us, I didn’t wanna say anything. I couldn’t live with myself if somebody hurt you ‘cause a me.”

Steve sighed. “That’s what I’m saying, Bucky. People finding out about what we feel about each other is going to cause them to explode. I know someone will try to hurt you and—“

“I told you that I can fight ‘em off.” Bucky took another sip of wine. “I think a couple a nutballs tryin’ to throw a punch is worth bein’ with you.”

“So you think I don’t?” Steve snapped.

“Steve, that’s not what—“

“That is what you meant.” Steve cut Bucky a glare. “Just because I’m not acting like one of those dames who would let you take me into some back alley after ten minutes of knowin’ ya—“

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Bucky hissed. “First off, there ain’t nothin’ wrong likin’ easy girls. Just ‘cause they ain’t your marryin’ type don’t mean they ain’t proper ladies. Second,” Bucky took a sip of his wine and smacked his lips. “I told you I wasn’t gonna treat you like a dame. Remember? You’re my best friend first? ‘Cause that’s what I said, and I meant what I said. Now, if you wanna talk about this, we’ll talk after we eat dinner.”

“I’d rather talk about it now,” Steve said.

“Well I’d rather not spoil my dinner. We’re here to have a nice fuckin’ time. I’m not gonna hold your hand like you’re so afraid of, so just drop it until after we eat, okay?”

It wasn’t okay, but Steve _had_ been taught not to fight at the dinner table. Bucky did have a point there—they’d come to have a good time together. So he just gave an impatient sigh and took a long sip of his wine.

After a long moment, Steve spoke again. “Buck, can you get drunk?”

Bucky made a strange face. And looked down at his wine. “Well, I’m feelin’ this, so probably. Why, can you not get drunk?”

It had never occurred to Steve that Bucky wouldn’t know that about him. He shook his head. “Uh, no. Haven’t been able to since the serum.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “So that’s why you never drank when we went out!”

Steve laughed. “No, no, I just didn’t want to drink when we went out. I mean, I had some sometimes, but I didn’t even know I couldn’t get drunk until you…” He swallowed.

Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek, nodding once in understanding. “Fuck, that musta been somethin’ awful.”

But Steve could laugh about it now. Bucky was right here in front of him, like a dream. Hopefully not too much like a dream, though. “Yeah, it was pretty awful. I thought I’d lost you.”

Bucky bit his lip, obviously trying to refrain from something. “I’m here now though,” he murmured.

“You are.”

But Bucky never liked to talk about sentimental things like that. “So, the Avengers. I know a lot about them from HYDRA, but I’m pretty sure most of it is shit. And I don’t know what you think. How do you like those guys? Need me to clobber any of ‘em?”

They talked about the Avengers until their food arrived. Bucky gave him a taste of the swordfish, which was just as phenomenal as Gabrielle has said it would be, and Steve’s stuffed flounder didn’t taste like the same animal they had eaten so long ago. The lobster was the best though. So buttery and fresh and delicious.

Steve tried not to notice the dreamy-eyed men sitting just a few tables away, laughing at quiet jokes and keeping their hands linked all the while. Bucky noticed though. Every time he turned to pretend to look at the pictures of fish on the wall, he was staring wistfully at them.

Steve swallowed another morsel of lobster. “Could you stop doing that?”

Bucky turned back to him. “Stop what?”

“Looking at them.”

Bucky stuffed another piece of swordfish in his mouth. “I can do whatever I want, Rogers.”

“I’d just appreciate it if you stopped.”

Bucky swallowed, running his tongue along his teeth before speaking again. “I want what they’ve got,” he said simply. “I know that ain’t right, but I’m allowed to look at ‘em if I want.”

Bucky could look at them, but every time he did, Steve felt a churning in his gut. He didn’t want to be expected to hold hands at dinner. He didn’t want Bucky comparing their relationship to those men. They were not those men and probably wouldn’t be for a long time. It was time Bucky saw that and got over it.

“I hate seeing you disappointed,” Steve said. “Which is what you’re going to be if you keep expecting me to act like other people. I’m not them. I’m not comfortable with this yet and I think maybe—“

“Steve.” Bucky slammed his fork down onto the table a little too hard. “Don’t start this again.”

“I am starting it again,” Steve growled. “We’re done eating.”

Bucky soured. “Fine.” He looked over Steve’s shoulder and lifted his hand.

Gabrielle was there in a heartbeat. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We’re ready to pay,” Bucky said with a charming grin.

“No dessert?”

“Nope, not tonight. Next time, though. There’s no way this is the last I’m eatin’ of this swordfish.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. However, you don’t need to pay. Mr. Stark has already done so for you.”

Steve ground his teeth while Bucky let out a groan. “Aw jeeze. I specifically told him not to do that.”

It appeared Bucky had been trying to stall by asking for the check. At least, that was how Steve saw it. He was angry all over again, especially when he saw Bucky glance over to the couple’s table again while Gabrielle explained that Tony had specifically said not to let them pay.

“It’s fine,” Steve said curtly. “I’ll talk to Tony about it later.” He stood up out of his chair and pulled out his wallet. “I’m sure Tony already gave you a nice tip, but you were a great waitress.” He pulled out two twenties and put them on the table.

“Oh! Thank you, sir. This is such a surprise…”

Steve stopped listening. Instead, he was glaring at Bucky, who was staring at the bills as though he might reach out and snatch them off the table. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t seen the check. Steve knew that no prices on the menu meant a lot of money.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve said as he put on his jacket and headed for the door.

They exited quickly, with Bucky stumbling along behind him as he tried to get his jacket on. Instead of heading back to their bikes though, Steve grabbed a fistful of leather and dragged Bucky to the side of the restaurant.

Bucky shoved him off before Steve could pin him against the wall. “The fuck are you doin’, Rogers?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing, Bucky. We’re talking. Right now.”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve!” Bucky shouted, giving him a shove. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Talk to me.” Another shove. “Talk to me!”

The light was cast down on Bucky’s face in a way that darkened the angles of his skull. Then he stepped under the Edison bulbs and Steve could see him in a warm yellow. He looked furious.

Steve grit his teeth. “When you asked me if I wanted to do this, I said yes. I meant yes. But I also said it was—don’t interrupt me!” Bucky had been about to open his mouth again. “I also said it was going to take a lot of time and that I wasn’t comfortable with this yet. And when I agreed to go to dinner with you that we were going to keep it a secret and you weren’t going to try anything and you did! You fucking did, Bucky!”

He couldn’t help but gasp in surprise when Bucky grabbed his shirt with both fists, yanking him up right in his face. Steve turned his head away, fully expecting some kind of passionate, interrupting kiss like in the goddamn movies. Bucky was always one for dramatic effect.

“Try somethin’—Try somethin’?” Bucky bit down on his bottom lip, looking down at the ground for a moment to collect himself. “I am tryin’ somethin’. You caught me. You fuckin’ caught me.” His voice was shaking.

Steve slowly turned his head back, his teeth still gritted. Bucky had so much anger raging in that tarnished blue. “I told you not to push it. I told you what I wasn’t comfortable with—“

“I heard you!” Bucky shook him once then readjusted his grip.

“Then stop ignoring me!” Steve snarled. “Stop trying to push your limits every chance you get!”

Bucky let him go with a disgusted snort. He put his hand over his mouth and turned away, stepping back into the darkness.

“Know what I’m tryin’? I’m tryin’ to have somethin’ with you, Steve,” Bucky said. “You said you don’t want me kissin’ you ‘cause it makes you feel wrong. I understand that—I don’t feel right about all a this either and you’ve always been the most stubborn outta both of us. And I could never kiss you knowin’ it made you feel awful.” Bucky dropped his hand, still turned away. “You’re tellin’ me I’m pushin’ ya. There ain’t nothin’ to push, Steve. I try to hold your hand and you pull it away. I try to look at ya and you look the other way. I try to take you out to dinner and we can’t take a car ‘cause it’ll be too suspicious if we fuckin’ show up together.”

Steve wasn’t going to be guilt tripped. “While Bruce was in our apartment, you tried to hold my hand. That’s when you tried to hold my hand. When someone was there who could catch us.”

Bucky tipped his head up to the sky, letting out a pained sound. “Then we sit down for dinner and two queers walk in all lovin’ on each other and you won’t touch me. Every night we go to bed you get tense ‘til I’m asleep—I can feel it, Steve. Every time I get near you, you go look like I’m holdin’ a gun to your head.”

“The last few times you’ve tried to get close to me, you’ve kissed me.”

Bucky turned around with glassy eyes, his lips quivering just a bit like he was trying not to cry. “I love you, Steve. Even when it didn’t feel like this, I always loved you. And up until a week and a half ago, I thought you loved me too.”

“If this is some ploy—“

“Fuck, Steve!” Bucky screamed. A few people leaving the restaurant turned to look at them, then hurried toward their cars. “Do you even realize how much this fuckin’ hurts? I know I’m goin’ to hell for lovin’ you. That don’t hurt. But hearin’ you accuse me of bein’ some scumbag, some perverted sicko who only wants to force you to kiss me and disrespect you at every turn and who would even think of tellin’ you I love you just to force you to say it back to me…” A tear slipped from Bucky eye and he furiously scrubbed his face before it could track down his cheek.

Bucky sniffed, cursing under his breath and running his metal hand through his hair. Then he realized it was in a ponytail and tore out the elastic band holding his hair up. “You wanna go slow. That’s okay. But you gotta wanna move at least some.”

Steve closed his eyes, trying to see past the tearing in his heart and look at the facts. Bucky was trying to push him too fast. Bucky just wanted something out of this and then it would be over and who knows where they would be after that. “I’m moving. Just not as fast as you want me to.”

Bucky shook his head. “This ain’t a schoolyard crush, Steve. There’s nothin’ to figure out. I _love_ you. I know everything about you—at least, everything from before I got this hunk a metal strapped to my shoulder. You won’t even let me near you. I want somethin’,” Bucky pleaded. “I just want something that ain’t a goddamn hug that could just as easily a come from the old me. Right now it doesn’t even feel like you want anything to do with me, much less—shit, Steve! I’m dyin’ here! I can’t do this. This was s’posed to bring us together and all it’s doin’ is drivin’ you further away than you were when you thought I was dead in the water.”

Steve expected something in his heart to break. Some dam to come down and flood his chest with the warmth and abundance that Bucky seemed to be feeling. Instead, the dam stayed up, and his heart stayed whole.

But he did bend. All of a sudden, he could see how foolish he’d been acting, how scared and cowardly he’d been even just in the presence of Bucky alone. Oh god.

Nausea started crawling up his throat and into his brain—and not because of the usual mantra of how wrong this was. Bucky had been trying so damn hard to accommodate his impossible demands. Love but don’t love. Stay close, but stay away. Look, but only in passing.

“I…” Steve swallowed thickly, running a hand through his hair. Bucky was still breathing hard from all of his yelling, his eyes wide from a deep, horrible pain in his heart that he’d somehow been able to hide all of this time.

“We aren’t anything, Steve,” Bucky whispered. “Right now we ain’t much of anything beyond pals. If that, anymore.”

“Bucky,” Steve said weakly. No more words came out.

“I figured a few days, maybe. Then you’d show me somethin’. Smile at me maybe, do somethin’ to show me you were sweet on me at all. Instead, you…you weren’t even yourself anymore. You haven’t been, at all. I hate it, Stevie,” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I’m sick a torturin’ you like this and I’m so sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry about all this.”

Steve crossed to his best friend and pulled him into a tight hold.  The scent of his cologne was better than he ever remembered from back in the day. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about,” Steve soothed in a gentle whisper. “All you’ve been doing is lookin’ out for me and I’ve been a real jerk to you. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Bucky shook his head against his chest. “No. You’ve been tryin’ to do what’s right.”

“God, Buck,” Steve whispered. “I’ve been ignoring you and actin’ like such an idiot. I don’t know what’s right, but I know it isn’t what I’ve been doing.” He’d been putting Bucky through so much torment, and likely left him feeling alone in this new world.

Bucky gently pulled out of his hold to look him in the eye, after wiping away the moisture in his eyes, of course. “What are we, Steve?”

This time, Steve didn’t hesitate. For once, he felt strong. “We’re together. You were right, we know each other more than we’re ever gonna know another person. I’m still going to be unsure about a lotta things, but we’re going to work together. As a couple.” Even saying ‘couple’ left a little sting in his mouth, but he could get over it for Bucky because he knew Bucky needed it. Shying away from every discomfort was what had brought them here.

“I want to trust that,” Bucky said in a shaky voice. “But I dunno if I can or if—“

He stopped talking when Steve closed the distance between them one more time. Steve tipped his head up, in hand automatically settling on Bucky’s neck as if he had planned this.

Gently, he pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead, kissing away the uncertain crease of his brow.

“For telling me you love me,” Steve murmured when he pulled away.

The warm glow of the Edison bulbs above them changed as they swayed in the wind, but Steve’s eyes didn’t need light to focus right on Bucky’s.  They both knew Steve wasn’t ready to repeat those three words, even if they were true. The meaning behind them now was going to take some working up for him to say.

Bucky didn’t try to kiss him back as Steve had been expecting, nor did he take his hand as Steve had also been expecting.  He just lifted his flesh hand and thumbed once over Steve’s chin.

“You had some flounder on your chin.”

He didn’t—Steve knew because he attacked his face with a napkin after practically every bite of food, ever since his one real chance at a date before the war had been foiled by a piece of lettuce just below his bottom lip (at least, that’s what Bucky had insisted).

Steve smiled knowingly. “Thanks. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

Bucky clapped a hand on his shoulder with an innocent shrug. “You’d have a piece a dead fish on your chin, is all.”

Steve playfully shoved him off. “It’s attractive. A 21st century thing. You wouldn’t get it.”

“So you’re gonna play that card, huh?”

Steve recognized that little lilt to his voice and zoomed off toward their bikes as Bucky started running after him.

“Fuck you!” Bucky laughed behind him. Steve was laughing too.

His ma told him once when he was twelve that the best dates she’d ever been on were the ones where she laughed. _“You just have to make a girl laugh, Steve. A woman wants a man who’s gonna make her laugh the rest of her life.”_

And his mother had married a man who drank more than he breathed and gave her black eyes on Fridays so she’d still be able to go to work on Mondays and not look busted up. A man who beat on her and took her money and never earned a penny to help his family.

But he could make her laugh.

Steve had vowed to never be like his father, and to never make the same mistakes his mother had. Now he realized that wasn’t completely up to him. He could act however he pleased and always know that Bucky would set him straight if he ever strayed. Keeping himself in check wasn’t good enough. Bucky needed to be there to influence him and show him things he hadn’t seen and he needed to be there to do the same for Bucky.

They would have something better than his mother could have dreamed for. Probably more laughter too.


	21. Chapter 21

It didn’t happen like in the movies.

 

Steve moved slowly into their relationship, but he did move. Bucky helped him and all the while, Steve could only think about the fact that he had no idea when the hell Bucky had gotten so comfortable with this.

In the beginning, it was very uncomfortable for Steve, but it only took a few days for him to get used to more touching, more closeness. A touch of the wrist when Bucky tried to change the channel on the TV when Steve didn’t want him to, Bucky pressing his fingers to his back as he moved around him in the kitchen—little things like that were things he had to work through.

After the initial reluctance to do something, Steve gradually gained the confidence to try it. He was always awkward and he knew it, but Bucky never once laughed at him or made him feel foolish.

It took two weeks of solid practice—literally almost every minute of the day pushing Steve just a bit over his comfort zone—before he finally began to settle down about their relationship…well, if you could call it that. They didn’t talk about it much except when Bucky tried to push a little too much and Steve didn’t feel he could do it. Every time, Bucky backed off and let him relax before the next time they touched or went out to eat together.

Steve had made huge bounds, but to anyone else it would probably look like he was just as much of a prude as when they’d started. He certainly felt like a prude. They hadn’t kissed or even come close to it and they had only held hands one time for about ten seconds before Steve let go.

It was not easy, but it was getting there, inch by inch. His thoughts still plagued him, and many times he went to the church in town and just sat in the empty pews in the very back, ashamed. He wanted someone to tell him it was okay to do what he was doing, but the only person that could was Bucky.

He never imagined that this new relationship with Bucky was going to affect him so damn much, and mostly in a bad way.

That is, until one morning.

“Your friend Sam just won’t give this damn poker night a rest, will he?” Bucky said as he took a seat at the table with his bowl of Froot Loops.

“Hey, get your breakfast off my newspaper.” Steve pushed Bucky’s bowl over and readjusted his paper to read more about how the only local grocery store was considering adding an organic food section. The local farmers were pretty upset though, because adding the organic food would take away some of the appeal of the Farmer’s Market.

“Did ya hear me?” Bucky asked around a spoonful of cereal. “Sam called again. Called me this time.”

“Hm.” Steve finished reading the last few sentences of the article and looked up to finally meet Bucky’s eyes. “Should we invite them over, then?”

Bucky shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t think we have enough room in here.”

“Well, I’m sure Tony will stay in the hotel, and he’ll probably rent the whole place out just to be an ass. Sam might stay here though. He only really hangs around Natasha and I,” Steve said absently as he flipped the newspaper over.

Bucky nodded slowly. “I guess, but if Tony’s like Howard then he’ll be too drunk to go much of anywhere.”

Steve looked up from the paper. “Tony isn’t like Howard. He drinks, but he doesn’t drink like Howard did.” He didn’t anymore, at least.

“Sorry,” Bucky said quickly, scooping up more cereal. “I guess he could always sleep on the couch if somethin’ did happen.”

“No, Sam would be on the couch,” Steve reminded him.

“Sam would be on the fold out in my room.”

“The where are you gonna—“ Oh. Steve cleared his throat, reaching for his coffee.

“You didn’t wanna sleep together,” Bucky said slowly.

Steve had gotten used to sleeping with Bucky now. “Well, I hadn’t been planning on it,” he said, but not in a way that implied he’d thought it was wrong. He didn’t. “I mean, they would figure it out pretty quick if we slept in the same bed.”

Bucky leaned over suddenly and Steve cocked a brow as Bucky settled his nose on his shoulder and inhaled deeply. “You taken a shower in the past week? You smell.”

“Shut up.” He shrugged Bucky off of him. “I took one yesterday after my run. It’s probably you.”

“It ain’t me. I like to smell fresh, ya punk.”

Steve rolled his eyes and took another sip of coffee. When he set the mug down on the table he groaned, collapsing onto his folded arms. “I don’t wanna host a poker party here.”

“Aw, it won’t be so bad, Stevie,” Bucky chuckled, rubbing his back between his shoulder blades. Steve just groaned again in reply, shutting his eyes. Bucky’s metal hand didn’t feel that much different than his flesh one, it was just colder. And he didn’t have nails to scratch his back with.

“What do you want do, Buck?” he asked a moment later, opening one eye to look at him.

Bucky blinked, and then looked down at the table. “To be honest with ya, Stevie…I kinda wanna go home.”

Steve lifted his head, reading something new in Bucky’s eyes. A wistful something that he recognized at once. Bucky was homesick

“I haven’t been to Brooklyn since I can’t remember when. I’ve been to New York, but not for years and I was told ‘m not s’posed to go anywhere near that parta town. I didn’t ask questions then, but I wondered.”

Without even thinking about it, Steve slipped his hand over Bucky’s metal one and twined their fingers together, metal on flesh. “It doesn’t look like it did. There’s only two spots you can even recognize.”

Bucky nodded. “I know. But I still wanna go home. I miss the city. I know it ain’t like it was, but everything’s too slow here. I’m startin’ to feel like I’m gonna get stuck.”

It was that look of desperation in Bucky’s eyes that did it, probably. Nothing snapped, no, that wasn’t what it felt like. Something burst. In Steve’s chest, something burst open and absolutely overwhelmed him. His vision seemed to punch every color, his nose could only bring in the scent of coffee and Bucky, and his mouth wanted to taste. His entire chest flooded with the feeling and all he could do was sit there and smile like an absolute idiot.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for?” Bucky asked with an unsure chuckle.

Steve bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “Nothin’.” Oh, but it was something. His entire body was ringing with it—some throbbing warmth that made him want so do something stupid. Like there was a spring in his chest just waiting to be sprung.

“You can tell me if you don’t wanna go back there. We don’t have to,” Bucky said.

Steve shook his head, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it. “If you wanna go back home, we’ll go back home.”

Bucky cocked a brow. “Somethin’ wrong, Steve? You’re still lookin’ at me funny.” He lifted his flesh hand and wiped his mouth. “Do I got somethin’ on my face or somethin’?”

“Nope.” Steve turned his grin back toward his newspaper. It was the best punch in the gut he’d ever gotten—a million times better than any dame he’d ever been sweet on. He thought he’d felt it with Bucky before, but he’d been wrong. “Eat your breakfast, Buck. Those Froot Loops’ll get soggy.”

“You’re fuckin’ strange, Rogers,” Bucky said, lifting his brows for a heartbeat and letting out a dramatic sigh. He looked at their hands and Steve pretended not to notice as he started looking through the newspaper again.

“I’m not the guy with a metal arm,” Steve muttered, only allowing a hint of a smile to show at the corner of his lips.

Bucky laughed, which ended in him being forced to spit Froot Loops back into his bowl to keep from choking on them. “Good point.”

After a few moments, Steve paused his reading to look up and meet Bucky’s eyes. “We’ll go home.”

There was a low whurr as Bucky’s arm moved and his fingers curled around Steve’s just a little tighter.

 

* * *

  

“I really should be insulted,” Tony said. “First you call me so I can send someone out to pick your Christmas present out of a field, then you call me again for another favor? I have feelings, Spangles. I have feelings that run really deep and you’re just hurting me every time you call. Am I just favors to you? Is that all I am?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Can it, Tony.”

“Can it, he says! My heart’s bleeding, Steve. Can you hear it? That breaking in my chest?” There was the crackled and muffled noises of movement on the other line, but Steve couldn’t hear anything.

“Tony, please. This is important.”

Tony sighed and his voice turned serious. “Okay, okay, I’m listening. What do you need?”

Steve swallowed, already feeling guilty about what he was going to ask. “Bruce was here a few weeks ago do give Bucky a psych eval. When he was here, he said we should consider moving back to New York. I, uh, I think he’s ready to do that.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I can have my plane there in two hours. If you call Coulson, I’m sure he’ll find a moving crew to get all of your stuff out. Is that even your stuff or is it SHIELD’s?”

“Uh, it’s mostly SHIELD’s, but that’s not what I’m asking.”

There was an exasperated sigh at that. “All righty then, Mr. I’m-Too-Humble-To-Ask-For-Things. Spit it out.”

Steve pursed his lips. “We need a place to stay. I don’t have an apartment there anymore.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. You have a floor in Stark Tower, though.”

“Tony, I was just calling to see if you knew any places that—“

“I’m serious, Steve. You have a floor in Stark Tower. You know how Bruce lives here? Yeah, he lives on his floor. Everyone has one.”

A whole floor? “Tony, that’s…thank you, I guess. I didn’t even know.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. I kinda got it finished while you were being a hermit in DC. And I was dealing with, you know, the Mandarin and all of that. It never really came up.”

Steve blinked, a little stunned by this news. If someone would have told him that someday one of his friends would give him a free apartment in one of the most iconic buildings in New York, he probably would have laughed so hard that he would have keeled over dead because his lungs would have finally stopped working.

“Steve?”

“Oh, uh, sorry. I just…Thank you, Tony. I’ll find some way to repay you for this—and for getting that bike for me.”

“Steve. You’re an Avenger. I’m just here to help out the team.”

“Really?” Steve was skeptical about that—not because he didn’t believe him, but because Tony didn’t say stuff like that.

“Pepper told me to say that,” Tony said with a laugh. “Anyway, when should I send my plane?”

Steve rubbed his jaw. “Uh, I’m not sure. Probably in the next few days, I’ll text you. I have to talk to Bucky about it.”

“Yeah, speaking of Skywalker, how’s he doing?”

He didn’t even try to understand Tony’s nicknames anymore. “Good. He’s doing really good.”

“Bruce said he hasn’t talked to you about the Winter Soldier stuff.”

“He hasn’t.” Steve glanced toward the bathroom where the shower was still running. “No nightmares or anything either. He remembers it all, though. Just doesn’t talk about it.”

“All I’m going to say is that you need to be careful, Steve. I got my hands on his file and he was good at what he does. New York is going to be a hell of a change from the retirement home,” Tony said.

“I know.” He swallowed, picking at the hem of his pocket. “Um, Tony, do you think he’s gonna be okay?”

He and Tony’s relationship had always been different—they were friends that didn’t have the chance to spend time together very often. Maybe it was because of Howard (though Steve would never tell Tony that) but he had a trust in Tony that he didn’t have in many people. Tony didn’t lie, even when telling the truth hurt. Steve greatly respected that.

“I dunno. I think there are a lot of different definitions of ‘okay,’ Bomb Pop. Bruce doesn’t seem worried though, so there’s that. Worrying about it won’t change anything. Just let us handle the logistics. Jolly Green and I are going to take some blood samples when you get up here and we’ll see if that can tell us anything.”

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure how Bucky would react to needles, but he supposed he probably did need his blood drawn just to check up on everything. “Yeah, that’ll be good.” He paused. “So, it’s really okay if we move into the Tower?”

He could practically see Tony rolling his eyes. “Yes, Spangles. It’s gonna be a party around here for awhile. Bruce is here, Clint is here, and Natasha moves in in a few days. Thor’s off in who-the-hell-knows-what-part-of-the-universe looking for his brother or something. I swear Loki has a damsel in distress complex or something.”

Steve chuckled. “Thor’s a good brother.” If Bucky were still anything like Loki, Steve would search the ends of the earth too.

“A bit too good of a brother, if you know what I mean,” Tony said with a little snort.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Tony diffused. “But yes, feel free to come stay at the Tower, we’d love to have you, blah blah blah. Bring Terminator and let me know when you want me to send down my jet.”

“I will, Tony, thank you so much,” Steve said.

“Talk to you later, Uncle Sam.”

Steve clicked his phone off and stared at the black screen for a moment. They had a place to live now. A place with a lot of his friends, who were some of the most capable people in the world to help with something like this.

Bucky wasn’t fixed—Steve wasn’t that naïve. He knew that there was going to be something bad on the horizon at some point, even if it took years to get there. The Winter Soldier’s words still struck fear in him: that Bucky would fall apart because of the things he’d done. Yet Bucky never really spoke about them, and when he did he used the same tone he might if he were talking about a vacation trip.

He could feel that something was brewing, but only because everyone else seemed to be expecting it.

The shower turned off and Steve placed his phone on the coffee table and headed to his bedroom to change.

  

* * *

 

Sleeping next to Bucky was no longer uncomfortable. The time before sleeping, however, was still something Steve was working on.

Bucky was flat on his back, sprawled out like a sleepy tiger on the bed. His arm was flopped over Steve’s legs that were underneath the covers as Steve sketched. Bucky had convinced him to pick it up again, but for the first time in a long time, Bucky was no longer the subject of most of his drawings. Now he drew the apartment, capturing the warm textures of the wood floors and the rucked lines of the wrinkled towels that were escaping the laundry hamper.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve started as he threaded the edges of the beach painting directly across the room from him. “Is there a reason we don’t talk about when you were the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky stilled, then tilted his head back to give Steve and upside-down look. “Why, you wanna talk about it?”

Steve gave a little shrug. “I just think it’s a little odd that you never say anything about it. I was just wondering if there was a reason.”

Bucky tongued the inside of his cheek for a moment before speaking. “I guess I just know you don’t wanna hear it.”

He stopped sketching to meet Bucky’s eyes. “You’re right that I don’t want to think about you doing those things, but I know it was HYDRA, not you. Even the Winter Soldier didn’t have a choice, from what I’ve seen. He was programmed to do whatever HYDRA told him.”

A sad little smile curled on Bucky’s lips. “Stevie, you got too much faith in people.” With a sigh, he rolled over onto his stomach and folded his hands under his chin. When he didn’t say anything, Steve reached out a hand, using his pencil to push a strand of hair from Bucky’s eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m just worried about you bottling it up.”

Bucky lifted his brows lazily, giving him a look that meant ‘you obviously think we _should_ talk about it, though’. The Bucky let out a breath.

“There’s this feelin’ ya get when you’re a sniper. I can’t explain it. It’s not like goin’ in guns blazin’, where you see the whites a their eyes and if you don’t kill ‘em first, they kill you.” Bucky looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “When you snipe, it’s just you and the Earth. Nobody’s gonna see ya until you kill ‘em or one a their buddies. Makes ya feel like God, in a way.

“It’s quiet and you’re so far away from your target that you can’t even hear ‘em walkin’ around. You just watch through your scope till they tell ya to shoot. But there’s lotsa figurin’ that you gotta do first: how fast’s the wind blowing? What direction? What’s the distance to the target? Any a that’s wrong and you ain’t gonna land a lethal shot. Then your buddy’s dead or you’ve just alerted the whole place. And it’s just you up there, drawin’ up your shot.”

Steve watched as regret began to cloud Bucky’s eyes, then guilt, then sorrow.

“It’s okay, Buck,” he murmured, his sketchbook now abandoned on his lap.

Bucky pushed air through his nose in a noise that was not quite a snort. “It’s not okay, Stevie.” He pushed up to his hands and crawled up the bed, propping a pillow against the headboard beside Steve and curling up against it.

Steve’s mind immediately told him this was not a good idea in the slightest, that he should find a way off of that bed as soon as humanly possible. But these past two weeks had been spent trying to fend off those kinds of feelings, so he stayed put instead of listening to them. Bucky needed him close right now. Besides, Bucky wasn’t leaned up against him or anything; he was being completely respectful of Steve’s space. Bucky seemed to know exactly what would throw him off, and never crossed that line.

“I sniped during the war, of course. I swear you’d a been dead ten times over if I wouldn’t’ve been there to save your ass.” They both shared a little chuckle over that because it was completely true. “But it was different with him. When I picked up that rifle, I was hunting human beings. Like deer or somethin’. It wasn’t about protecting nobody. They said ‘kill,’ I said ‘how?’ Sometimes they wanted it slow, drivin’ knives under people’s skin and carvin’ ‘em up. Or I’d shoot ‘em.

“The only thing I always did was stay quiet. No one was s’posed to know who I was. But none a that was the bad part. The bad part was the feelin’ I’d get afterward. I’d shoot ‘em and watch ‘em shake and fall to the ground. I’d look ‘em dead in the eye while I dressed ‘em like a goddamn animal.” Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, his brow creasing. “It was like makin’ a painting to me. Killin’ ‘em was just the beginning, but it was such a fuckin’ rush. Turns your blood all cold ‘n tingly in a way nothin’ else can—it’s like God’s feedin’ ya power right from his mouth. It’s so…” Bucky let out a long breath and when his eyes opened, Steve caught that his pupils had dilated a little.

“Anyway,” Bucky continued, quieter now, “I felt so good. Then I had to hide my work n’ make it look like an accident. Take the bullet out ‘n break ‘em up so bad the docs wouldn’t be able to tell what happened. I could make it look like anything I wanted. I still can.” He turned his head to look toward the door. “Thing is, I don’t know if I regret it all. I regret killin’ those people, sure, but when I finished a mission, there was nothin’ like that feeling. That’s why snipers stay so long and try so hard to be good at what they do. From what I remember, at least. It makes ya hungry. You gotta kill, you just gotta. I’d get so fuckin’ antsy—all I wanted was to see that pink spray.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to say. What could he say? He was no sniper and he never took joy in killing. He knew many other people did, though. Tony had even made a living out of it for years. The look in Bucky’s eyes as he recalled it though, reminded him of someone who needed a drug fix. He didn’t like that.

“What about now?” he asked quietly. “Do you still want it?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

“Not like I did. I still feel all restless, but that’s just ‘cause I wanna get out there and fight. I hated war, now it’s parta me. I don’t wanna kill just to kill anymore. I wanna do what’s right.” He looked at Steve and let the silence find its way between them for a few moments. “I wanna go back to New York and live in that Tower. I wanna be with you ‘cause I know you’ll always show me what’s right.”

That suffocating, wonderful feeling overcame Steve again, and his cheeks were going to burn holes in his skull if he kept blushing like this. His heartbeat was destroying the inside of his chest with how fast it was going, and, much to his embarrassment, Bucky _could_ actually hear it, because he made a weird face.

Then he pressed his metal hand to Steve’s chest and launched his heart into overdrive.

“Sorry,” Steve blurted out. Bucky had just told him things that ought to have him comforting his best friend, not sitting there melting because Bucky had said one nice thing to him.

Bucky laughed softly. “I ain’t even bein’ sweet on ya yet, Rogers. You’re gonna explode when I am.” He moved his thumb, gently rubbing over a crease in Steve’s shirt. “Sorry for touchin’ you,” he said. “It feels real funny, that’s all.” A smile spread on Bucky’s lips. “I can feel it all the way up my arm.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered.

“No, I mean it,” Bucky murmured. He moved his hand so that just his fingertips were touching Steve’s chest. “When I go like this, I can really feel it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Bad?” Bucky snorted. “I remember when I could stick my ear right over your ticker and not hear a thing. I swear some a those times you really were dead for a couple a minutes.” His tone took a sad turn at the end and Steve didn’t want to think about when he’d been so sick all he could see was blurry colors.

Bucky’s hand flattened out on his chest again, the metal still an unfamiliar feeling. Too smooth, too unforgiving, too cold. Butt Steve was getting used to it, just like he was getting used to being a couple. Verbally, they were one, but it was only just beginning to feel like they really were two people…dating or whatever. Going steady was the term he preferred, because it seemed like dating was way too broad of a statement nowadays. And they’d technically only been on one real date.

“How much can you feel with your arm?” Steve asked, gently placing his hand over top of Bucky’s metal one and giving one of his fingers and experimental squeeze.

“Enough,” Bucky said.

“That’s not an answer.”

Bucky curled his fingers, locking Steve’s between them. “Your hand is warm and you’re putting a bit of weight on it. And I feel your heartbeat.”

“Can you feel my shirt or anything?” Steve asked quietly, cocking his head to rest it on top of Bucky’s. Unease festered in his gut, but it was being washed out just as quickly as it came from the warmth of being so close to Bucky.

Bucky shook his head, snuggling just a bit closer. “To me, it’s feeling. I don’t even remember what it’s like to feel normally with it. I don’t even notice that it don’t feel the same as when I touch stuff with my right hand.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed, eyes closed. This was good progress.  Sleeping on it would help most of this discomfort go away so that tomorrow this would be easier if they decided to try this kind of closeness again. He was listening though, he was just a little tired too.

Bucky slipped from him, causing Steve’s head to droop sideways, prompting a groan in protest. The weight of his sketchbook lifted from his lap as Bucky reached over to place it on the nightstand.

He really was handsome, Steve thought as he opened his eyes. The way Bucky’s hair hung messy around his face, just long enough to brush his lips when he moved. His eyes were kind ones, round like a dog’s with that same loyalty hidden behind soft blue.

“You checkin’ me out, Rogers?” Bucky asked with a cocked brow as he leaned back.

“Maybe,” Steve replied too quickly to stop himself. He nearly clapped a hand over his mouth in shock that he’d said it—he cursed his automatic reflex to sass.

Bucky didn’t laugh though, he just moved closer, careful to keep his metal arm gripped to the side of the mattress and not touching Steve as he did so. “Yeah?” he murmured, so close that Steve could feel the air shift as he pulled in another breath. “And whaddaya think?”

Usually by this point Steve would be attempting to push himself through the headboard to try and disappear. Instead there was a little tingle in his cheeks and a tiny contraction in the base of his nose that made all the air in his lungs feel funny all the sudden.

He really just had the temptation to bite Bucky’s lip to see if it tasted like cherries. They were just so _red_.

“Uh, good,” he hurried to answer, swallowing thickly. Right, Bucky had eyes. He was supposed to be looking a Bucky’s eyes.

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky’s forehead bumped his and stayed there. His lips had automatically parted of their own accord and—oh god, he could already taste cherry.

“Bucky,” he breathed, but he wasn’t even sure why he said it.

“Don’t worry, Stevie,” Bucky soothed. A smile curled at his lips as he pulled back. “I ain’t gonna do anything.” He pressed his nose to Steve’s forehead affectionately and after a moment, he sighed softly.

Bucky really pulled away after that, yawning into his metal hand. “Time for some sleep. We gotta hit everything in this town tomorrow before we pack up outta the joint.” He reached forward with his flesh hand and ruffled the hair of a still-openmouthed Steve, then pulled his pillow off the headboard and dropped down onto his side, facing the door.

“Night, Steve.”

Just like that, it was over.

Steve wiped his mouth even though no lips had touched it, and shifted down into bed back-to-back with Bucky, though he was still blinking stupidly into space. He still wasn’t quite sure what to think about what had just happened; one minute they were talking about the Winter Soldier killing people for fun, the next they were…about to kiss. This time without Steve protesting. It was just about the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

After a few moments, Bucky moved against him a little more, shifting in his spot. Steve smiled and tipped his head back to rest against the nape of Bucky’s neck. It was warm there.

“Night, Buck.”


	22. Chapter 22

Steve gently traced the edge of the dining table with his fingers, watching the light play across the glossy finish as the trees outside swayed in the breeze. Apartments always seemed too quiet when they were about to leave. It was a familiar feeling; the quiet emptiness of a home that was becoming something less. Steve was going to miss this place, but going to New York with Bucky was going to be better than here. He just had to keep telling himself that it wouldn’t end up being worse.

“Hey, Steve, I got our packs in the car and it’s going to the airport,” Bucky called as he came back into the apartment. Steve looked up, his hand still lingering on the table where they had shared so many breakfasts. His gut churned with uncertainty as it had many times in the past few days.

“Stevie, let’s—hey, what’s wrong, huh?” Bucky came over to him, putting a hand on his back.

“Nothin’s wrong,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “I’m just gonna miss this place.”

“Aw, Steve, you always get all mopey. How many apartments have we lived in? And ya still get sad every time.” Bucky ruffled his hair, warmth in his eyes.

It was true. Steve had never liked moving from place to place, but he was so used to it now that he could pretend he did. One grungy apartment to the next, some with roaches, others with mice. Each one had some kind of charm though, even the one on the top floor with a rotted out roof that leaked buckets when it rained. There had been only one place to sleep in the whole flat that wouldn’t get wet, and he’d spent many nights curled half on Bucky’s lap while they both avoided a storm.

Sometimes he still wished they could do things like that and forget about any romantic undertones.

“Still feels like I’m gonna move and forget all the memories here,” Steve murmured, tapping his fingers on the edge of a dining chair.

“I’ll help ya remember, Steve,” Bucky said, throwing him a smile. “All of it.”

He rolled his eyes at the look on Bucky’s face, gently knocking him with his shoulder. “I’m sure you will, Buck.”

New York frightened him for the first time in his life. It was home, but it was also a place where Bucky could easily get lost again. The Winter Soldier could return and they might have to start all over again. Steve didn’t know if he was ready for that—or if he was ready for Bucky to love or not love him when he came out of it again.

“We probably gotta get going, huh?” Steve said after a few moments.

Bucky’s hand slipped from his back. “Yeah, I guess we should. Wanna take one last look or somethin’?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. It’s better we just go.”

Bucky frowned, hooking an arm around Steve’s neck and pulling him in for a side hug. “Whatever ya say, Stevie.”

With a short sigh, Steve stepped toward the door.

“Hey,” Bucky called after him.

He turned and nearly jumped when Bucky’s metal fingers laced with his own.

“Buck…” Handholding was definitely still new.

“Sorry, but I know you aren’t gonna let me do it once we get in that plane,” Bucky murmured with a twitch of his lips.

He had a point. Being around the Avengers was going to put Steve on edge all over again, he could already feel his chest tightening up just thinking about what would happen if they were caught holding hands. Nothing bad, of course, but there would be relentless teasing from everyone except maybe Bruce. It would all be in good fun for them, but Steve knew it was going to make everything a million times worse even if they didn’t mean to upset him.

So he squeezed Bucky’s hand and pulled him to his chest, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“ ‘M sorry,” Steve murmured. “I hate doing this to you.” He did. It was so obvious that Bucky loved him—hell, he’d said it to his face—and Steve still just couldn’t let the stigmas of the past go.

“Hey now,” Bucky soothed right back. “Stop that. Only thing you’re doin’ is lookin’ out for us. I’m with ya, pal. I’m with ya.”

 

* * *

  

Tony stood with his arms crossed in the small entryway of the floor, eyeing Steve as he got his first sight of his new home. Steve noted that Tony looked a bit older than the last time he’d seen him—there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair had whisperings of grey. His eyes were still young though, and every bit as full of sass as Steve remembered. It was good to see him again, even if meeting Bucky had turned into an impromptu interview to try and dig up embarrassing stories about Steve.

Steve stepped out of the elevator almost cautiously, thinking that this had to be a joke. Bucky followed close behind him, but not too close that Tony was going to make a comment (somehow, Bucky had already perfected how to avoid that—a true miracle).

“You’re kidding,” Steve said as they crossed into the main room.

“You think I set this place up for me?” Tony snorted. “The only people who’d ever want to live here are you and Coulson. Sorry, Bucky.”

One wall was entirely made up of windows, giving a sprawling view of New York and the edges of the bay on the horizon. That was the only indication in the décor that this apartment—it wasn’t technically an apartment, but Steve felt better calling it one—was in a modern time. Dark wood and warm honey tones made the room look cozy and Steve actually had a rush of excitment upon seeing it, as though he’d spotted an old friend.

The room was a little dim, like houses used to be when he was growing up. Someone had clearly deigned it to look like he’d stepped back in time, but with a few modern additions like a sleek new computer on the oak desk. A fancy wood fireplace was tucked in one corner, though the fire burning in the hearth was gas powered, though it was probably actually powered by some kind of clean fuel Tony had created.

The open floor plan wasn’t like the forties, but it worked exceptionally well with the space and it didn’t seem wrong. The kitchen looked vintage, but upon closer inspection was a state-of-the-art area for culinary expertise (that brought a snicker from Bucky).

“Most of the stuff in here is from my Dad’s,” Tony explained. “He upgraded over time, but he always stored all of his crap just in case everything went under, he’d have a shit ton of expensive old furniture to sell.”

“Your dad knew how to decorate,” Bucky said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house this fancy. I mean, back then I’d never been in a house this fancy.”

Tony shrugged. “And the stuff that wasn’t going to work, I just had refurbished and whatever. Like the phone has caller ID and everything, it just looks old. Your kitchen appliances, same thing. And the furniture was really fucking uncomfortable, so I had most of it fixed up to actually be soft.”

“You remember those chairs at the Douglas’ house?” Bucky asked with a knock to Steve’s shoulder. “Those chairs were just rocks with legs, I swear.”

“These were exactly like that,” Tony laughed. “Alrighty, let’s see where the magic happens. Over here, Uncle Sam.”

Tony led them to a little hallway off of the kitchen and pushed open the door to reveal a bedroom that wasn’t huge, just the way Steve liked it. A four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room with steel blue and grey cushions and comforters. Two little white wooden nightstands had been placed on either side of the bed, with a circular window right over the headboard.

“Like the window, huh?” Tony said with a knowing smile. “I got that from my dad too. Dug it out of the wall of his old place when he died. I always like that thing, though you can’t open it and it looks like shit from the outside.”

“This is so nice, Tony,” Steve breathed. His entire first apartment could fit just in this bedroom, and this bedroom was hardly big by today’s standards.

“Where’s the guest room?” Bucky asked rather suddenly, as though he’d only just remembered to ask.

“Uh,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a little grimace. “That’s the thing. Call it poor planning, but I didn’t really put guest bedrooms in the place. I can put a bed in here if you want, but I was going to show you to Thor’s floor, since he’s not here. I hate being a bad host, and Thor’s floor looks like something out of a goddamn fairytale.”

Steve clenched his jaw. It would be too suspicious if he fought for moving the bed down—and saying anything too quickly would look suspicious too. But not saying anything for too long would also look suspic—

“Steve and I slept in the same bed for ten years. A shitty little cot, actually,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I’d be fine sleeping with him in here.”

Tony cocked a brow, then shook his head. “I’m not going to be the guy who forces Captain America’s best buddy to sleep in his bed.”

Steve was trying not to choke.

“You wouldn’t be forcing me,” Bucky laughed. “Forcing me was what they did in the war—you know how many times I got stuck in a muddy hole next to this fella?” He jabbed a thumb toward Steve. “A bed like that’s big enough to fit ten people. No use wasting it on Coffin Sleeper over here. It’ll be fine.”

Surprisingly, Tony just shrugged. “If you want that, fine. Maybe if I’d been stuck living with Rhodey back in the forties, I’d be saying the same thing. But I _will_ get you a bed, Barnes. I bet in a week you’ll be begging me for one anyway.”

Bucky made a face. “Yeah, maybe you should get the bed just in case.”

They both chuckled, looking over at Steve, who had a fractured smile on his face and eyes that did little to hide his shock. Bucky had nearly exposed them completely in the first five minutes of being there.

“Whoa there, Spangles,” Tony said, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?”

Bucky crossed over to him and helped him down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Steve?”

Steve lifted a hand, gently shooing Bucky away. “I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy there for a minute.”

“You want me to grab Bruce? He’s just upstairs,” Tony said.

Steve took a deep breath. Tony didn’t suspect anything. They were safe. “No, no, I think that flight just caught up with me or something.  And all of this stuff…It’s wonderful, Tony. Thank you so much.”

Tony frowned. “I mean, it was supposed to knock you off your feet, but not literally, big guy.” He shifted uncomfortably by the door, clearly unsure of what to do.

Steve smiled. “I think I just need something to eat and a bit of time to take all of this in,” he said. “This is so great. You really didn’t have to do this.”

That got Tony to crack a smile again. “Sure I did.” He let out a breath. “Well, the fridge is stocked and we’re having a team dinner at six thirty on the top floor. To welcome you back or whatever.” Tony looked to Bucky and his smile twisted a little wider. “Non-team members are allowed too.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said with a laugh.

Steve stood up slowly, and headed out with Tony to see him to the door. Bucky wandered behind, looking around at their new living space, touching the vintage picture frames and looking around at the couches.

“I’m serious,” Tony said as he got to the door. “Dinner at six thirty. We try to get together at least once a week. Dinner, drinks, something.”

“Keeping up morale, I like it,” Steve said with a smile. “I have to get Sam over here soon to join us.”

Tony snorted. “I think Clint might explode if he comes over again. He wouldn’t shut up about that guy for a week. Clint wants some wings.”

“Sam would kill you.”

“He wants the wings, Steve.”

Steve sighed. “I’ll talk to him at dinner.”

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what I wanna hear.” He gave Steve that smirk that said he’d just won an argument. “Call me if you need anything. Or just ask for JARVIS. He’ll answer.”

Steve swallowed. “Does JARVIS watch everything that goes on in here?”

He blinked as Tony started cracking up. “God, Steve, you just think the world’s after you, don’t you?” Tony straightened, wiping his eyes. “I’m not the NSA. This floor is yours. I’ve got cameras in the elevator and in the entryway, the rest is all you. J doesn’t listen in, only when you ask for him. I don’t spy on my friends.” He cocked a brow. “Should I be?”

Steve laughed nervously. “No. I’m just a little jumpy about that stuff since HYDRA was discovered.”

Tony nodded. “I hear that. I was on their target list, you know.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“So was Bruce.”

Steve looked down, nodding once. “We learned a lot from that.” Thank god it hadn’t gone through. Thank god Bucky hadn’t been able to stop him long enough, or Steve never would have come out of that alive, regardless of if he made it to the shore of the Potomac. That much blood on his hands…he could have never lived with himself. No one could have lived with themselves if they were involved in that horrible mess.

“Wasn’t you, Steve,” Tony assured him. “Settle down in the new place. Make sure you’re buddy’s okay. Nobody’s gonna be watching you as long as you’re in here. On this floor, anyway.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said with a small smile. “For all of this.”

“You say thanks again and I’m gonna toss you out the window, Rogers,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes as he stepped out the door. “I’ll see you two at dinner. Don’t get too rowdy down here.”

When Tony was gone, Steve turned to find his best friend. Bucky was sitting cross-legged at one of the massive window wall panes, looking out into the city below, his face calm. Steve carefully moved up and sat down beside him, pulling up his knees.

Bucky didn’t say anything for a while and neither did Steve. They just stared out the window into a city that had been stripped to the studs and remade, just like Bucky. The streets were all paved now, even the back alleys that had just been packed earth most of the time (thank god for Steve’s face). All of the cars that were squeezed into the street were compact and too shiny, not like the sleek chrome giants that had puttered around before.

“We’re livin’ in a different world, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

Steve nodded. “We are.” He looked over at him and smiled. “But we’re here together, right? That’s gotta count for something.”

Bucky gave him a sly smile and nodded once. “Gotta count for something.”

 

* * *

  

“So they got cameras in this place?” Bucky asked, looking up at the ceiling, as the elevator started moving.

“Yeah. Just in the elevator and the entryway to our floor,” Steve assured him. Even so, they hadn’t so much as brushed arms since arriving. Dinner was going to be interesting, considering almost every dinner he’d eaten for the past few weeks was filled with Bucky trying to make him blush (which really wasn’t that hard).

“Mm,” Bucky hummed, followed by the ding of the elevator.

The doors opened to the top floor of the tower, where Steve had only been once before, right after Loki’s attack. It was a little different now, with a massive dining table and fancy chairs by the fireplace and a professional kitchen tucked behind a wall.

Bruce spotted them first as he came out of the kitchen with a big plate of breaded chicken. “Steve! Bucky! Come on in.”

Clint was next to see them, pausing to give Bucky a once-over. His gaze lingered on Bucky’s arm, just as everyone’s did upon first meeting him. Steve touched Bucky’s metal shoulder, resting his hand there just gently for support. Bucky glanced at him with a touch of nervousness in his eyes, but Steve couldn’t tell if was about his arm or because Steve was touching him.

“Bucky?” Clint offered a hand. “Clint Barton. I go by Hawkeye on the street.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky greeted, meeting Clint’s hand with his flesh one. “Hawkeye, huh? I assume you’re the archer, then.”

Clint smiled. “That’d be me.”

“You’re a pretty good shot.”

“I’m a perfect shot,” Clint corrected.

Bucky laughed. “I guess you are. I’ve never heard of you missing before.”

“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” Clint asked with an arched brow.

“Of course. HYDRA made sure I knew to stay outta your sights,” Bucky said with his usual charming smile.

“Don’t flatter him like that,” Natasha said as she slipped past them with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Once she set it down on the table, she grabbed Steve’s arm and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Come on, I think Bucky can handle himself out here.”

Steve followed her to where about five more bowls and platters of food were waiting.

“Did you guys make all of this?” Steve asked as Natasha handed him a bowl of green beans and carrots.

“Kind of. Tony has a few personal chefs that come help us out.” She lifted a brow. “You’ve never been here for one of our dinners, have you?”

Steve shook his head. “I guess they started after I went to DC?”

“Yeah. This is only my second one,” Natasha said as she picked up a fruit tray. “This’ll be the first one where all of the Earth dwellers are here. It’s a nightmare when Thor visits—he has a vacuum for a mouth, I swear.”

He could only imagine. Thor had eaten three bags of popcorn on his own the last time they watched a movie, and that was almost a year ago.

“So how are you, Natasha?” Steve asked. “I haven’t heard from you since you snuck into my apartment and dropped off Bucky’s clothes.”

She shrugged, giving him a smile. “Just got back from a mission in Costa Rica, so I can’t complain.”

Bucky’s laugh rolled through the air and Steve turned to see that Tony had joined the conversation. It was relieving to see Bucky so happy—he hadn’t seemed all that happy downstairs. Not sad either, but just placid and neutral. New York was a lot to take in, even for someone who had been there just a few years prior.

“How’s Bucky doing?” Natasha asked quietly, her green eyes following Clint’s hands as he gestured wildly, acting out some story of a mission gone wrong.

“Really well,” Steve said, crossing his arms. “Bruce seems to think he’s doing a little too well, which is worrying.”

Natasha shrugged and Steve was comforted by her nonchalance. Nothing really fazed her, and she didn’t seem worried at all. She arguably knew Bucky better than Bruce did. “He’s adjusting. I’ve known a lot of people that came out of other agencies, not as bad as the Red Room, and it still took them years to come around and act the way you expect someone to act who’s been tortured for so long.” She turned to look at Steve, and he shifted uncomfortably. She was gauging him. “Bruce is a doctor for normal people. Bucky isn’t normal.”

Steve turned his attention back to Bucky’s conversation, biting his lower lip. To Steve, Bucky was normal. He was himself, even if he was a little different than the Bucky he had always known.

He smiled when Bucky caught his eye, unable to keep his heart rate from climbing just a little. Bucky shot him a grin, then turned to start talking to Clint again.

“All right, boys,” Natasha announced after a few more minutes. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

The conversations ebbed and everyone approached the table that was now packed with bowls of food, and there was still some back in the kitchen. Steve headed to sit by Bucky, but was quickly beat to it by Clint and Tony, who were still discussing some kind of long range weapon that Steve was fairly certain hadn’t been revealed to the public yet.

So Steve settled for sitting across from Clint, who was next to Bucky, so Steve could at least see him. Bruce and Natasha sat down on either side of him, and he noted that there were no chairs at either end of the table, keeping them all equal. He liked that.

“So,” Tony said as he speared a piece of chicken. “We all wanna know: how’s it been living with Rogers?”

Bucky chuckled, waiting a moment to speak so he could swallow his food. He looked at Steve and smiled. “I’ve never had to pay rent, so I guess it’s pretty damn good.”

They all laughed, Steve included.

“Okay, okay,” Tony started again. “I just have to know one thing: is he a clean person or a messy person?”

“I’m a—“

“Shh!” Tony lifted a finger to shush Steve. “I’m asking Bucky.”

Bucky licked his lips, swaying his head side to side a little as he pretended to think it over. Steve shot him a look—he was a very clean person. Always had been. It was Bucky who scattered everything around and messed things up.

“Steve’s as clean as a whistle on his own. Livin’ with me is when things get messy,” Bucky finally said, throwing Steve a wink.

It took every cell in Steve’s body to keep himself from turning bright red right there. A wink? Really?

“Bucky thinks a place is clean as long as he has a path big enough to get to the fridge and to the bathroom,” Steve said around a mouthful of green beans.

“How long have you two lived together?” Bruce asked, sipping at a glass of wine. “Bucky mentioned you lived together before the war.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who nodded his head, giving him the floor.

“Well, we’ve always kinda lived together,” Steve started. “To be completely honest, I don’t really remember when we were and weren’t living together. Buck was over at my place every day when I was a kid, ‘cause my ma worked all day and my dad was never around unless he needed booze money.”

“Steve wasn’t like he is now, obviously. The kid was sick every day a the year,” Bucky muttered, though Steve knew very well that Bucky had never once seen it as a chore.

“I got an apartment once I was sixteen, and Bucky had his own place. It was really pointless that we even got separate places because we were always over at each other’s apartments. Then my ma died, Buck moved in when I got a real bad fever. After that we were going from place to place, trying to keep an apartment. We stopped living together when Buck shipped out,” Steve finished with a shrug. It was funny—none of the people in this room knew half the memories they had shared, all of them skimmed over in a few sentences.

Bucky knew though. All of the nights Steve had been barely alive, and all of the nights they’d spent on double dates that Steve never found any success in. And now they spent nights together, went out to eat together and talked quietly like lovers did, together. They didn’t kiss though, or…well, they didn’t really do much of anything else that lovers did.

Yet Bucky still smiled at him with more affection than any person Steve had ever met.

“And we lived together during the war, which was a hell of a time. Nothing like sleeping on gravel, huh, Buck?”

Bucky shook his head. “Best night’s sleep the world has to offer.”

Steve let out a snort and took another bite of chicken. There was nothing quite like waking up and wiping pebbles of from where they had embedded in his face.

“And you aren’t sick of each other by now?” Clint asked. “I lived with Nat for six months once and found a live claymore in my closet.”

“It wasn’t armed,” Natasha countered, jabbing her fork at him. “And you’re the one who had to clean his bloodied arrows on the table. I had to wipe the whole place down every morning.”

“I wiped it too, _Tasha_ ,” Clint argued.

The rest of dinner was filled to the brim with that kind of banter. Bucky fit right in, cracking jokes and sparring wits with Tony. He kept flawless pace with them, and even fudged his way through a few conversations where Steve could see he had no idea what he was talking about. Bucky could observe and absorb, and he used that to his advantage to charm anyone and everyone.

Tony broke out the scotch after they finished a dessert of key lime pie that Tony had ordered in from a bakery down the block, but Steve was beyond exhausted. Way too exhausted to start dealing with a drunk Tony.

“I’m heading back down to bed,” Steve announced before he stood up, grabbing his plate.

“Leave your goddamn plate, Rogers,” Tony chuckled. “We might’ve made the food, but we sure as hell aren’t cleaning it up.”

Conflicted, Steve put the plate back on the table. This was Tony’s tower, so he supposed what Tony said about house rules would be rude to disobey. Especially since Steve hadn’t even helped to make the dinner in the first place.

“I’m gonna hit the sack too,” Bucky said with a yawn. “I still hate planes.”

“And helicopters,” Natasha added with a smirk.

Steve said goodnight to everyone and made Clint promise not to ask Sam for his own pair of wings. God, he was tired. He nearly fell asleep in the elevator on the way down to their floor.

“I like ‘em,” Bucky said, causing Steve to start awake again. Bucky laughed. “You’re that sleepy, huh?

“I said I was heading to bed, didn’t I?” Steve yawned as he stepped out of the elevator and into their flat. The city skyline had turned to a living light display. It was beautiful.

“I thought you were just sayin’ that ‘cause you wanted some time with me,” Bucky said, grabbing Steve by the hips.

Steve immediately stiffened, turning to shoot Bucky a look. “Buck.”

Bucky’s grip loosened, but didn’t drop. Instead he stepped closer, his hands linking together at the small of Steve’s back. “Steve.”

With a sigh Steve relaxed, but not much. He wasn’t fond of being this close to Bucky’s lips, even if he still thought they looked like they tasted like cherries. He tentatively moved his hands, awkwardly placing them on Bucky’s arms. A frustrated huff left his lips at his idiotic inability to do anything right. He was just jumpy and hesitant and downright awkward.

Reluctantly, he met Bucky’s eye, which seemed to be what Bucky had been waiting for.

“How’re you feelin’, pal?”

Well, that wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. “Uh, fine? Why?”

Bucky gave a little shrug. “Just checkin’ on ya.” He lifted his metal hand, gently running it through Steve’s hair.

“I should be askin’ about you,” Steve said quietly. “Everything okay?”

“Mm,” Bucky hummed nodding once.

Steve looked down at Bucky’s lips then hurriedly looked up at his eyes again.

Bucky smirked. “You gonna just stand there and look at me or are you ever gonna do it?”

Steve flushed, quickly shoving Bucky away from him. No kissing. Not right now. He just couldn’t see he and Bucky kissing—and he’d even felt it before. It hadn’t felt right either of the times it had happened. He just didn’t want that feeling again.

“ ‘M sorry,” Bucky sighed.

Steve shook his head as he headed for the bedroom. “Don’t be, it isn’t your fault.”

Bucky followed him and turned Steve to face him again. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

Steve hated seeing guilt in Bucky’s eyes. He lifted his hand, gently framing Bucky’s jaw with his palm. As with every time Steve had touched his face, Bucky nuzzled into it, his eyes on Steve.

“I said it was okay, Buck,” Steve assured him. “It’s stupid. It’s not…” He swallowed. “It’s not that I don’t want to…I just want it to be special with you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Steve, you could kiss me any time you want and it’d be damn special to me.”

Steve blushed again and shook his head. “I want it to be special.”

“Then I guess I’m still not allowed to kiss you first, huh?” Bucky asked before chewing on his bottom lip.

Steve laughed softly. “Yeah.”

“Mmkay,” Bucky relented, ruffling his hair.

Steve slipped his hand away and tugged at Bucky’s shirt. “Don’t go to bed in that. I can smell chicken on you.”

He gave Bucky a playful shove and moved sluggishly over to his dresser. He was probably going to sleep for six hours tonight—flights always made him tired. 

Something hit him on the back and he turned, looking down to see Bucky’s shirt in a pile on the floor at his feet.

“Very funny.”

Bucky shrugged, hopping into bed with nothing on his torso but his dog tags clacking against his chest. “Just followin’ orders, Captain.”

Steve grabbed a shirt out of his dresser and tossed it to Bucky. Some day Steve would be comfortable sleeping shirtless with him, but not tonight. And some day they would kiss and it would be…it would be great.

All he had to do was get over his stupidity.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve shouldn’t have been surprised that Bucky got more of a social life than he did. Of course, the whole team was fascinated by him; the guy who had terrified the intelligence community for decades who was now turned to the good side—who wouldn’t be interested? Bucky took a particular shine to Clint, who then took it as his own personal mission to make sure Bucky was really acquainted with the 21st century.

It gave Steve time to think—something he hadn’t realized he needed so much. Coulson pulled him in for a few projects the day after they arrived and he was thankful to be put to work. Steve did not like standing by, especially if Bucky wasn’t even there to talk with.  So while Bucky visited his first real Starbucks and discovered the wonders of real junk food, Steve was watching surveillance footage of new threats and analyzing how to stop them.

He missed Bucky during the day and counted that as a good thing. Seeing too much of each other made things go stale and he never wanted that. Between briefings he began to doodle the smooth curves of Bucky’s metal arm, shaping it in his head and molding it to view it at all angles before he brought it onto the paper. He always tossed them though, and stopped drawing whenever he got to where Bucky’s faded red star was located. He didn’t want anyone tracing it—for all they knew he was just drawing an arm with strange designs that helped to map out the shape (which they did).

When he did see Bucky at night when he got home, it was refreshing to hear how his day went and about things he hadn’t been present for. Steve just wanted Bucky to be happy and he sure as hell seemed to be. He liked Clint and Tony and though he had a strange relationship with Natasha, he liked her too. The only slip-up had occurred when Steve wasn’t there, when Natasha asked him something in Russian. Bucky hadn’t snapped, but he’d made it very clear he wasn’t going to speak Russian with anyone, or acknowledge it if it was spoken to him. Natasha wasn’t didn’t seem offended, and when Steve tried to talk to her about it she brushed him off with a sharp look.

All in all, things were going great for both Bucky and Steve. A week into living at the Tower and they both had their routines and just enough separation in their lives that when they were together it was more meaningful.  

“Tony invited us to the penthouse tonight,” Bucky said as he scraped at his jaw with a razor in the bathroom mirror.

Steve didn’t look up from his book, _Black Hawk Down_. “Have you heard about the Battle of Mogadishu?” he asked, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Have I heard of what?”

“The Battle of Mogadishu, in Somalia,” Steve said distractedly. “That’s what this book is about.”

“No, I haven’t,” Bucky dismissed, washing off his razor before lifting it back to his face again. “Steve, you hear what I said about Tony?”

Steve was too busy reading about a Somalian man taking ten armor-piercing bullets to the chest and continuing to shoot.

“Rogers!” Bucky called out, flicking shaving cream at him. None of it hit his book, but Steve was conscious now that there was a chance the page in his hands was in danger, so he looked up.

“What?”

“Tony invited us to the penthouse for drinks,” Bucky said. “Wants us to come.”

Steve made a face. He’d rather finish reading. “You wanna go?”

Bucky shrugged, his passive way of saying yes. “Everyone’s gonna be there.”

“You mean Clint’s going to be there,” Steve muttered.

“Shuddup.”

Steve chuckled and carefully folded the corner of his page. His book reading would have to wait until tomorrow—he wasn’t sure he could have handled reading much more about military miscommunication and horrific deaths anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I like Tony’s champagne. He only brings out the good stuff when it’s just the team.”

Bucky finished washing his face off in the sink then began to apply aftershave. “It’s like you don’t even want to try to get drunk,” he groaned.

Steve laughed. “Yeah, something like that.” He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure Tony has something that could get me tipsy, but I tasted it once and nearly lost my vision it was so strong.”

Everclear, it was called. He remembered reading the label so that he would never be duped into trying it again.

He stood, placing his book on the nightstand and leaning against the doorway in the bathroom to watch Buck finish up. It may or may not have also been because Bucky wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Why, are you gonna get drunk?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

Bucky reached over and smeared some aftershave onto his jaw with a smirk. “So what if I am?”

Steve grunted in surprise at the wet on his skin, then rubbed it in with a pout. “Just don’t go nuts. Tony’s gonna try to get you drunk enough to go nuts.”

“You’re afraid of me tellin’.” Bucky said matter-of-factly, glancing away from the mirror to look at him for a heartbeat.

Steve tongued the inside of his cheek. “I’m not afraid.” He continued when Bucky shot him a look. “I’m not afraid. They’re going to find out soon enough.”

“So why don’t we just tell ‘em?”

A short huff left Steve’s lips. “Because.”

“Good answer,” Bucky said, lips dripping with sarcasm.

“Because when they know, the world’s going to know. I don’t want the world to know yet, especially since we don’t even act like a normal couple,” Steve said defensively.

Bucky licked his lips once. “We could, if ya wanted.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Buck. I don’t want to be a normal couple, I want to be us. We’re moving at our own pace right now and I don’t want that to be affected by people thinking we should act a certain way.”

Though Bucky didn’t look exactly happy with his answer, he gave a little shrug. “Okay, Stevie. We won’t tell ‘em yet. I promise I’m not gonna get drunk enough to blab. I’m pretty sure it would take too much effort to do that anyway.” He threw Steve a smile. “I don’t like booze _that_ much.”

Steve’s smile was still a little weak because he felt bad for making Bucky frustrated about this. But he did like how they were moving now, and he knew all it would take was one lighthearted jab to send all of his confidence slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

Bucky wiped off his hands and then set them on Steve’s hips, looking him right in the eye. “I’d be ready to tell the whole world right now, Stevie. But if you wanna wait, then we’re gonna wait. Because I love ya, and seein’ what that would do to ya would make me real upset.”

Steve flushed the moment ‘love’ left Bucky’s lips. It sounded so right coming from him, and made his chest light up with a warm flame that wouldn’t go out for hours. But he couldn’t say it back—he just couldn’t. All he could do was slip into Bucky’s inviting arms, but even that made him slightly uncomfortable because Bucky still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

He closed his eyes and felt Bucky take in a breath before a little wash of heat ghosted over his ear.

“Let’s go have some drinks, huh?” Bucky said, giving his back a rub before pulling away. “I gotta see if Natasha can hold as much liquor as she says she can.”

 

 

It didn’t take long for everyone in the room (except Steve) to get tipsy. Drinking with the team was always a contest, and after Tony had confirmed, recomfirmed and re-reconfirmed that Steve could not get drunk, he was made permanent referee. That involved a lot of nonsense and marking tallies under names to count how many shots, beers, or other drinks everyone had consumed. It was Steve’s way of getting involved, and everyone always looked forward to seeing who had won once they recovered from their hangovers.

Bucky was new to the game, so Steve was having a blast watching him stare down his next shot of rum, his eyes going slightly cross-eyed before he had to laugh and turn away from it.

Tony, currently in the lead, had taken to drinking his alcohol from a straw and downing shots that way, claiming it was essential to not getting drunk as fast.

“Rogers, another shot,” Natasha growled, already using her “slightly drunk” voice.

Steve poured out another shot and sent it down the bar. Natasha snatched it up and knocked glasses with Clint. Bruce sat beside them, tipsy but not getting any further than that. Contrary to popular belief, Bruce could get drunk and not turn green, but the risk of the Hulk joining the party was significantly higher. So he just settled for tipsy most nights, laughing along with everyone and nursing the same beer for most of the night.

“Steve, you gotta drink,” Tony said, stumbling into the barstool beside him.

Steve cocked a brow, listening, but marking another two tallies as Natasha and Clint both down their other shots.

“I got stuff that’ll get you drunk,” Tony sing-songed. “Really quick, jus’ try it.”

Steve put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “That’s all right, Tony. I’ve had quite enough to drink.” Four Shirley Temples, one of them virgin, and some champagne. He was a sucker for the sugary drinks. And nostalgia.

“Bullll-shit,” Tony said with a smile. “Do a shot with me.”

He knew better than to try and talk his way out of that so Steve just smiled and poured two shots of Patrón. He’d gotten pretty good at being able to tell what was in people’s glasses just by smell.

“To sobriety,” Tony laughed, sloppily clinking their glasses together.

Steve swallowed down his shot, nearly choking at the hot burn in the back of his throat. He put a hand over his mouth for just a second to swallow and shook his head.

“You’re such a wuss,” Tony groaned dramatically, sipping on his Patrón through his straw.

“Shuddup.” Steve pushed his glass back across the bar before signaling DUM-E to make him another Shirley Temple. He had to get that taste out of his mouth.

“So, Spangles,” Tony started, tapping on the table in the way that signaled he was actually starting a conversation. “Are you just gonna spend the rest of your life takin’ care’ve Bucky or are you gonna get a life?”

Oh, Tony was in one of those moods. Steve narrowed his eyes a little and turned to him. “I have a life, Tony.”

“Mm, yeah.” Tony’s brows lifted. “Helping out Coulson, comin’ back here and sitting around—sounds like a tonna fun.”

“I’ve been here for a week and a half, what do you want me to do?” He was quickly remembering why he didn’t particularly enjoy spending time around a drunk Tony Stark.

“Oh puh-leeze. You’ve been avoiding it.”

“Avoiding what?”

“Girls,” Tony said with a smirk. “Tasha—“

“That’s Natasha to you, Tony,” Natasha spat from across the bar.

“ _Natasha_ ’s tried to set you up how many times? All you said is ‘no no no, ‘m not ready for that’.” Tony slurped down another swallow of alcohol. “Wanna know whud I think?”

“I think you’ve been drinking too much,” Steve muttered, eyeing Bucky across the room where he had an arm around Clint, both of them belting out a serenade to Bruce who was just tipsy enough to be laughing and not embarrassed.

“I think the reason you’re not goin’ is ‘cause you don’t wanna go on dates with girls,” Tony chuckled.

Steve’s blood froze. DUM-E placed his Shirley Temple on the counter with a clunk and Steve realized a fraction of a second too late that he’d hesitated for too long.

“You don’t wanna go on dates with girls!” Tony shouted. “You wanna go on dates with boys, don’tcha!”

Steve paled, bile rising in his throat from a thousand times where much crueler versions of that sentence had been said to him. 

“I don’t want to go on dates with anyone,” Steve snapped.

Tony hooked an arm around his head, pinning his skull to Tony’s chest. “Steve Rogers, I never would have guessed. So defensive!”

“Tony, get off of me,” Steve growled in warning, but internally he was downright panicked. This was not good.

“Oh my god, this’ll be so fun,” Tony slurred. “I’m gonna get you a Grindr. And there’s like a billion gay bars around he—“

“Tony, shut up!” Steve did not want to know what a “grinder” was or visit a gay bar. He was _not_ going to be one of those men who went out parading something like that.  He was not going to be—

“Well you aren’t denying it!” Tony said with a big smile. “Jeeze, your conservative fanboys are going to explode. This is fucking amazing! Steve! You’re gay! That’s nothing to be—“

Tony was gone, his hold on Steve’s head gone too. In his place was Bucky, back facing Steve with Tony being held by his flesh hand (thankfully not the metal one).

Steve took a breath and stood, putting on his best authoritative stance. “Buck, let him go.”

“Fuck off, Steve. I’m not lettin’ him talk to you like that.” Bucky’s voice was dark, protective—much more menacing than it had ever been in a back alley.

“Let him go,” Steve commanded. Bucky’s fingers reluctantly loosened around Tony’s throat.

“Listen here, fuckwad,” Tony spat, giving Bucky a hard shove right back into Steve. “Don’t fucking touch me. I’ll break that tin can on your shoudler right in half.” His lip curled up in a snarl, and even though he was shorter than Bucky, Tony could look pretty mean if he was mad enough. “If you’ve gotta problem with Steve’s sexuality—“

“I’m not gay, Tony!” Steve snapped over Bucky’s shoulder.

“—then you can walk right out of this place and never come back. Some best friend you are, you bigoted—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky snarled, his body going so rigid that Steve was pretty sure tapping him too hard would shatter him.  “Just shut the fuck up!”

Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulders, hard, and pulled him back. He refused to look like he couldn’t defend himself here. When Bucky was back far enough, Steve slipped in front of him, looking him in the eyes and trying to mask his softness.

“It’s okay, Buck.”

“It’s not okay,” Bucky whipped back, but fear ringed his eyes.

Steve’s lip pulled up in an unsure smile. “I’ve got this.”

“No,” Tony cut in, grabbing Steve sloppily by the back of his shirt and dragging him backward. “This lil’ fucker wants to go forties on your ass—“

“Shut the fuck up!” Bucky shouted, lunging for Tony again. Steve shouldered him in the chest and then Clint and Bruce were there, getting Tony off Steve’s back while he dealt with Bucky.

“Bucky, just let me handle this, please,” Steve said softly, but his hands were shaking a little. They were already over the edge in some respect, and this wasn’t making it any less obvious.

“Steve,” Bucky said, fingers flexing because he wanted to touch, but wouldn’t.

“What the hell is going on here?” Natasha said, glancing between Steve, Bucky, and Tony.

“Steve’s gay!” Tony slurred and Steve winced.

Bucky didn’t refrain anymore, and pushed past Steve to grab Tony again. “Don’t fuckin’ talk to him like that you—“

“Oh fuck you. I’m going to take your best buddy out and find him a fucking date and if you so much as say a word—“

Bucky fisted both hands in Tony’s shirt and yanked him to his face. “You ain’t gonna take Steve anywhere, fucker,” Bucky snarled, eyes wild again.

“You have no say in what Steve does!” Tony shouted. “It’s his life!”

Steve’s chest was just a knot of emotion. The ground was slipping out from underneath him, and the world was spinning so fast around him that he was feeling sick. This was not supposed to be happening. They had just talked about this not happening yet. And it was his fault, for not answering and Tony being drunk enough to call him out. The worst combination of events that he could possibly have imagined had taken place. He shrank out of himself, watching the scene before him out-of-body like people did when they died. Or so he assumed.

“You ain’t takin’ him out to some bar,” Bucky snapped.

“Fuck you, yes I am,” Tony shot back. “And I’ll find him some hot guy to make out with, just for you, you homophobic asshole!”

Bucky glanced at Steve, just for a split second. “Steve’s with me.”

Steve’s chest pinched so tight it was painful, unable to move.

“Oh, so you’re gonna be the roommate that can’t stand living with a gay guy? Well fuck you, ‘cause you’re—“

“He’s with me,” Bucky growled. “We’re together, you fuckin’ smartass.”

He threw Tony away from him and moved protectively in front of Steve, who found himself the center of attention. Steve’s breaths were coming short and shallow, and he looked at Bucky, trying to avoid everyone else’s stares.

Bucky looked at the floor, shame in his eyes, all of his anger evaporated into guilt. He’d said what he’d sworn not to say. But it wasn’t his fault.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a shaky voice, lacing his fingers with Bucky’s metal ones. As much as he wanted to deflect and deny, to scream at Bucky for saying something like that and implying the truth, he couldn’t. Bucky didn’t deserve that. “We’re together.”

Bruce’s drink hit the floor, joining the jaws that were already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: _Black Hawk Down_ refers to the book by Mark Bowden. It's my favorite book, and it's nonfiction. If you haven't ever read it, do so.


	24. Chapter 24

Gregory Kool had not started off life in a great way. Born into a military family with a father who despised him, he hadn’t started out with the best family either. His father was Colonel Kool—a name that brought forth snickers from new cadets, but only in the darkest reaches of the barracks after a few flasks of alcohol. Colonel Kool was not a friendly man, not to his family nor to his soldiers. But he was a gifted leader and climbed up the military ladder two rungs at a time.

Gregory had only wished to follow in his father’s footsteps when HYDRA approached the young, intelligent drone operator and aerospace engineer. He was easy to convince—all HYDRA had done was show him a few pictures of their friends, their powerful government friends.

The poor kid had only been 24 when he was swept into an organization that ruined him, turning a bright mind into a poisoned one.

Steve frowned as he thumbed through Gregory’s file, glancing up from the youthful picture of a young Marine to the grizzled shell of a man on his computer screen, hunkered in a cell in a remote SHIELD location. He could have been a great kid.

“Please, Agent Romanoff, I have strict orders not to allow—“

“Steve,” Natasha said as she stepped into his office, Coulson’s secretary right at her heels, looking terrified.  

“I’m so sorry Captain Rogers, I know you asked not to be disturbed, but—“

Steve smiled at her and put up a hand. “It’s perfectly fine, Emily. Thank you.”

Emily gave a curt nod and walked away. Steve saw her let out a big breath once she was out of earshot.

With his smile still on his face, he motioned to the comfy seat in front of his desk. “Wanna sit down?”

Natasha didn’t respond, she just stared at him with the almost-smile on hier face that either meant she was thinking up a way to kill him, or that she was trying to figure something out. Steve hoped it was the latter.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said, extending a hand to him.

Steve chuckled. “Sorry, Tasha. I would, but I still have a lot of work to do.” He tapped the stack of files on his desk

Her brow curved in a way that said he’d better listen up. “You and I need to talk. Leave the files, Rogers. You and I both know any intern in New York could go through those and find the same things you will.”

“I’d like to think I’m smarter than that,” Steve said, not moving to get up. He knew this conversation would be about Bucky. Everyone in the Tower was itching to know all of the juicy details. Tony had even been so polite as so show up to their floor with a big basket of chocolate and wine in a grandiose gesture of goodwill. And to ask them how their sex life was, which got him forcefully thrown into the elevator by a furious Bucky while Steve tried to recover from his crippling embarrassment.

Everyone wanted to know, but Steve didn’t want to tell. His relationship with Bucky was between them, not the team.  The fact that people thought they were having sex was a clue to how little they knew.

Steve too, actually, because Bucky had rather venomously stated he was not going to have sex with a guy in this fucking lifetime. _“I’m already dancin’ with the devil, I ain’t gonna kick him in the balls,”_ he’d said.

“Steve, come on. You’re going to have to talk about it eventually. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Steve gave her a look. “You’ll tell Barton before you’re even done with the conversation.”

Natasha crossed her arms, lifting her chin a little. “Barton wasn’t in DC. This is between you and I.”

Steve tongued the inside of his cheek, not wanting to give in. But a small part of him did want to talk about it, the way everyone wanted to burst out kept secrets.

“Natasha.”

“ _Steve_. Come on. I won’t grill you. I just want to talk.”

A moment of silence breathed between them as Steve thought about the consequences. No one would be surprised but Steve if Natasha told anyone about what might come up in their conversation, but he desperately hoped she wasn’t in the mood to test his trust.

Reluctantly, he stood from his chair and grabbed his jacket. Natasha smiled, which turned to a grin when Steve narrowed his eyes at her. She’d won, and she knew it. She was just lucky that she’d been the one in DC with him, because that was the only reason he was going to tell her anything. She knew how Bucky—how the Winter Soldier—used to be. She deserved to know how he had changed, because Bucky didn’t deserve to be thought of that way.

 

The New York sky was clear with a spring-like breeze that was odd for summer. Natasha’s boot heels made soft clacks on the pavement as they walked, her red hair bouncing with every step as if she were trying out for a shampoo commercial. As usual when they went somewhere together, people gave Natasha envious or just plain lusty looks, then smarted away when they saw Steve standing beside her. Natasha had doubled over laughing once when Steve had asked why they thought he was so intimidating. Now he knew it was because they thought he was hot too, not because they were startled.

“So how _has_ the filing been going?” Natasha asked once they finally caught sight of Central Park.

“It keeps me busy. Coulson doesn’t want me on missions while Bucky is still labeled unstable, so it’s the best I can do,” Steve said with a shrug.

“You could at least help the NYPD or something. You look like you’re losing some muscle.” She was teasing, as she emphasized with an elbow to his ribcage.

“I’ll have to hit the gym. Thanks for boosting my self-confidence,” Steve cracked back sarcastically.

A few people recognized them and they stopped their walk so that Steve could take a few pictures with a few girls (and one very obnoxious guy) and sign some stuff. Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but Steve never liked passing anyone up when they asked him for a few seconds of his time. It was the least he could do, really, and he liked to see how excited people became. It was like being Santa Claus, but for Steve, sometimes all it took was a smile to make someone’s year.

Natasha started getting annoyed though, which wasn’t safe for anyone involved. Steve finished his last few pictures and signed a few more plastic shields, and made sure to wish everyone in the vicinity a good day before reluctantly continuing on his way. He hated leaving people behind, but at least he’d gotten to say something to everyone.

“You’ll be there all day if you stay there,” Natasha muttered, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. Steve started to wish he’d brought his when he saw them in Natasha’s hand.

“Thanks.” Ever prepared. He put on his shades, once more thankful that aviators hadn’t gone out of style.

“So,” Natasha started, and Steve immediately tensed a little. “You and Barnes are really together?”

Steve licked his lips as discomforted prickled up his spine.

Natasha eyed him. “You’re really tangled up about this aren’t you?”

He set his jaw, wordlessly answering. Talking about it in public made it something that he didn’t want it to be. What that was, he didn’t know, but he just knew he didn’t like it.

“You must be. The time you came from, the way you grew up—not many people slip things by me, Rogers, but you did. I never saw that coming.”

“Neither did I,” Steve said quickly. “And obviously, I’m still not adjusted to it. At all. Which is why I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Natasha let out a little hum, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.  “That’s understandable. But you should talk about it. Keeping it just between you is asking for someone to get hurt.”

That stirred a lick of anger in him. “It’s been working just fine for us.”

“Has it?” She turned to look at him. “Or has it just been working for you?”

“Natasha!”

“I’m just saying, Steve. Unless you’ve talked about it extensively—and judging by how tense you are right now, I’m sure you haven’t—you can’t be sure Bucky feels the same way you do,” she said.

“He keeps it a secret because I asked him to. We have talked about it. We’re best friends, we’ve talked about everything,” said Steve.

“So how often do you have sex?”

He turned bright red. “We do not have sex.”

“Was that your choice or his?”

“Both of us,” Steve snapped. He stopped walking. “I’m not going to talk about this if you’re just going to fire off relationship questions like a teenage girl.”

It was biting and far too mean, but Natasha only narrowed her eyes at him curiously. That was either very dangerous, or her not caring what he’d said.

“Fine,” she said. “Then tell me about him. Was this something you guys had in the forties?”

“No,” Steve said defensively. “We’ve always just been best friends.”

“Let’s sit.” Natasha stopped in front of a bench and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and inviting Steve to sit down with her. He did, though he wasn’t exactly happy about it. “So you’ve been best friends up to this point, what changed?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said weakly. “One day we were best friends and the next day…It started during that mission at the mansion, looking for Hoffman. You weren’t there, but Clint and Sam were.”

That caught Natasha’s interest. “What happened?”

Steve explained what had happened in Hoffman’s office, not sparing a single detail about how disgusting he’d felt afterward. Then he found himself explaining the night Bucky had disappeared, how he’d been so damn scared. And about when he got home and Bucky had kissed him again.

“You fought him?”

Steve nodded, shaking a little. “I beat him up, he beat me up. I thought that what had happened at the Hoffman mansion was just the Winter Soldier, but Bucky…I couldn’t accept it.” He pushed out a breath. “Back when we were living in Brooklyn, sometimes people wouldn’t even hire us because of our neighborhood. If you didn’t have a wife and kids, people assumed you were queer. We weren’t. I wasn’t. I wasn’t queer but everyone thought I was. I worked so damn hard to try and prove them wrong. It didn’t help when it was Bucky beating the shit out of them and not me.”

“Is that why this upsets you so much?” Natasha asked evenly, reaching over to touch his arm in a rare sentimental gesture. “Because of what those people said seventy years ago?”

“I don’t know,” Steve whispered. “I don’t know. All I know is that my worst fear right now is for someone to figure out about this that isn’t part of the team. I can’t take that scrutiny, Tasha. I’m so edgy about this already that I know I’ll turn tail if it gets out. I’ll hurt Bucky and I don’t want to do that.”

Natasha offered a small smile. “I don’t think he would just let you run off that easily. He knows you love him.”

Steve found himself intently gazing at the pigeons on the sidewalk.

“You have told him you love him, right?”

One pigeon wasn’t pecking at the grass; instead it was just peering around, cocking its head every so often.

“Steve.”

He finally looked at her, his eyes heavy. “I haven’t been able to tell him. I haven’t even been able to kiss him. “

He expected her to laugh or widen her eyes and poke fun at him for being such a prude or scold him for not having told Bucky he loved him when Bucky had said it many times. Instead, Natasha just nodded once.

“Why not, Steve?”

“I can’t,” Steve said quietly. “Every time I want to, it seems like it’s going to be a waste. It means something different now. I haven’t even kissed him—I can’t tell him I love him if I haven’t even kissed him.”

“Sure you can,” Natasha said with a shrug. “It’s your relationship, Steve. Bucky’s already said he loves you, right? Then I don’t think he’s going to complain if you tell him you love him back. Feeling it is not the same as hearing someone say it.”

“I know. It’s not fair to him and I know that, but I can’t say it. If I said it to him right now, I would feel like everything was over.  Or I would feel like I didn’t mean it. Something—I don’t know and I don’t want to say it until that feeling isn’t there anymore.”

Natasha laughed softly. “You’re funny, Steve. Of course it feels weird to tell someone you love them. That’s why it’s such a big deal. It’s scary to put yourself out there on the line like that, but that’s what it is.”

He cocked an unsure eyebrow at her. “Have you ever told anyone you loved them?”

She smiled. “A time or two.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but not in a condescending way. “But I bet you kissed them first.”

Natasha shrugged. “Then kiss him first.”

Steve shook his head. He was slowly realizing how much he didn’t deserve a man like Bucky, one who was so patient with him and hadn’t ever pushed anything on him. “I just don’t want it to be like last time. Those didn’t feel like…kisses. It just felt like…” He made a gesture with his hand, frowning. “I’m just afraid if it happens again I’m going to feel disgusting all over again. Like I’m going to start from the beginning.”

“Steve, just do it. Even if it goes wrong, even if it makes you feel bad, you need to do it sometime. Bucky can’t wait forever, no one can. And in our line of work, not saying something might lead to not being able to say it at all.” A distant look flickered in Natasha’s eyes for only a moment before she was looking at Steve again.

“I will when the time is right,” Steve said, staring at his hands. He could see Bucky’s lopsided smile, the curve of his lips as he told Steve not to worry. He could feel the warmth of Bucky’s hands, firm and strong on his shoulders as he shoved him into a dance hall. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the pleasant tightness in his chest and imagine Bucky’s lips at his ear, whispering in a scratchy baritone that he should go talk to a dame. And now he knew what it would feel like if Bucky’s arms wrapped snugly around him instead, locking his back against Bucky’s chest to sway with the music.

Natasha opened her mouth to say something when Steve’s phone started ringing in his pocket.

He pulled it out to see Bucky’s name on the screen and answered the phone, immediately concerned.

“Buck?”

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky greeted. “Hope ‘m not interruptin’.”

Steve looked at Natashsa. “Nah. Tasha and I were just talking. What’s going on?”

“I can hear ya worrin’. Nothin’s wrong, Stevie. I’m just goin’ out with Clint and I was wonderin’ if you’ve seen my jacket.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. He’d thought something was wrong. “You’re going out with Clint, what a surprise.”

Bucky laughed. “Shuddup. I’d rather be home with you and you know it, ya punk.”

Steve grinned like a fool. Natasha raised her brows at him, a smile on her lips.

“I know,” Steve said, chuckling sheepishly. “Where are you going with Clint?”

“Ah, I got no clue. He’s takin’ me somewhere. But, uh, I’m lookin’ for my black jacket. The one with the silver button things on it.”

“Right.” Steve closed his eyes, trying to visualize the apartment. “Um, did you look in the closet? I don’t remember seeing it in the kitchen.”

“I’ve looked through this whole damn place and can’t find it.”

“Check the closet, Buck.”

“Why would it be in the closet?” Bucky was clearly getting a little frustrated.

“Because that’s where clothes go,” Steve said, trying not to sound sassy as he did so.

“Can it, smartass,” Bucky grumbled. Then there was some shifting of the phone and a long pause. Then: “Fuck.”

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered. “I swear I didn’t put it in here.”

“I think I might’ve moved it last night after you went to bed. You do have a habit of leaving that thing right in the way.” And Steve was a habitual cleaner. “Tell Clint I said hi, okay?”

“Mmhm,” Bucky hummed into the phone. “You gonna be back on time tonight or are you stayin’ late again?”

“I’ll be back. Early, probably,” Steve said, turning his gaze to the trees above as Natasha watched the pigeons. “Wanna watch a movie tonight?”

“You bet. Let me know when you’re back and I’ll find an excuse to get home.”

“Have fun with Clint, Buck. I’ll be around all night.”

“Oh, I’m bankin’ on it.”

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. He could handle Bucky’s sexual humor through a phone. In person was a little different. “Well, I’ll let you know. Have fun, Buck. I’ll see ya soon.”

“Sounds good. Love ya, Stevie.”

Steve’s breath caught uncomfortably in his throat, but instead of trying to come up with an answer, his phone beeped to tell him that Bucky had just hung up. As always, Bucky hadn’t said it to try and force a response. He just said it because he loved Steve.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “You two are ridiculously domestic.”

Steve blushed, trying to play it off with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“And I have no idea what’s going on with Barton. Every time I text him he’s out somewhere with Bucky,” Natasha said with a shake of her head. “Sam’s going to be heartbroken.”

Steve laughed, glad not to be talking about his relationship with Bucky anymore. “Yeah, they’re something. I’m glad though. I was worried Bucky wouldn’t have anyone once he got here.”

“He’s going to be lucky to have five seconds by himself at this rate.”

“What do you think they’re even doing?” Steve asked. Clint wasn’t much of a tour guide unless it involved being up high, and Bucky had already been to the top of the Empire State Building twice since they arrived.

“I bet a lot of it is talking about you,” Natasha said with a shrug. She ignored Steve’s glare. “Clint is kind of a gossip girl. He likes staying in the know on everything. I swear he knows more than Coulson does about his own department.”

Steve didn’t want to think about what Bucky would be saying about him. Or what Clint would be saying about him. So with a sigh, Steve stood up.

Natasha followed wordlessly and they headed back down the path.

“So,” she said once they were out of Central Park. “All of those girls I wanted to set you up with…”

“Natasha. No.”


	25. Chapter 25

To most people, Brooklyn didn’t look all that modern in comparison to the rest of New York. But to Steve, it was all kinds of wrong. The buildings, though brick, were far too new. All of the roads were nicely paved and trees burst from the too-small squares of dirt between the sidewalk and the street, providing a bit of green amongst the concrete and stone.

“Shit,” Bucky said, hands jammed in his pockets as they stared at the plot where one of their apartments used to be.

There weren’t many people on the street, but those who were there were wearing smart designer eyeglasses and wore clothes indicative of having money. Much different from the scrappy cotton scraps patched together by mothers, and everyone coughing from one sickness or another. The fact that the streets were empty was a sign of the times. On a day this hot, most people had sat on their stoops and mingled with the neighbors.

“I told you it was different,” Steve said, looking up the new building that had replaced theirs.

“All of ‘em are like this?” Bucky asked.

“Yup. I went to every one,” Steve replied. Every apartment, every place he’d ever stayed. Nothing was left. Some buildings had bits and pieces of the old ones, but rarely.

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered, shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“You okay?” Steve asked, concerned. This trip had been because Bucky had insisted they go visit their old home, and he’d been unsure about it since the beginning.

“I’m okay,” Bucky said, sounding defeated. “I just kinda thought there’d be somethin’ left, you know? Somethin’ I could see so I’d know it wasn’t a big lie.”

Steve leaned into him so that their shoulders touched in a silent show of support. The team knew about their relationship now, but the world didn’t. Paparazzi still lurked though, and Bucky had been warned time and time again that nothing was secret in their lives when they were outdoors now. With enough technology, someone could probably be on the Brooklyn Bridge right then and have them in their sights.

Bucky didn’t like thinking that people were watching, and Steve knew how anxious it made him underneath his nonchalant façade. Bucky would always be wary of high rooftops and shadowy places. Steve was too, quite often, and he was technically still active.

“Well, it wasn’t a lie. You and me were both here. Probably stood in this same spot once.”

Bucky looked over at him with a little smile. “Yeah.” He sighed. “Still, you’d think they’d keep somethin’.”

Steve let out a little snort. “First thing I learned about these people is they throw everything away. Nobody saves anything anymore. Buildings included.”

“Thank God you‘re one-of-a-kind,” Bucky said, turning to face him with a smirk. “Else they woulda left your sorry ass in the arctic.”

“Hey!” Steve put a hand out to cuff Bucky’s head, but Bucky’s metal arm shot up and grabbed it before he could touch him. A reflex reaction.

Bucky glanced at his hand where it was curled around his forearm before slowly retracting his grip. “Sorry.”

Steve smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry.” He reached up and ruffled Bucky’s hair as he’d originally intended to.

Bucky fixed his hair once Steve’s fingers left it, scrubbing it back into a purposeful messy look before he glanced around another time. “Let’s go home. I don’t wanna push my luck.”

“Mmkay.” Steve turned and they headed back for the subway. It was starting to be strange not to show affection for each other in front of people. Tony had been startled more than once to find them holding hands on the table at dinner, and Natasha constantly told them to get a room when Bucky perched his chin on Steve’s shoulder while they cooked their dish for the team meals.

Of course, they still hadn’t kissed yet, but Steve was slowly losing his fear of that. Bucky was wearing down all of his nervousness about pretty much everything. With Bucky he was now completely comfortable, and that hadn’t been the case for months.

The subway was packed with people going out for lunch, so they were packed in pretty tight. New Yorkers were not fond of sharing, and even less fond of looking at people. It was a blessing in disguise though, because no one recognized either of them. Steve wasn’t even sure Bucky would be recognized at all, though some media outlets had posted pictures and speculation. Tony had made certain that nothing was confirmed _. “If you’re trying to keep you guys a secret, then you don’t tell them who Bucky is until you have to. You suck at lying, Steve. When they ‘make up’ some story about the two of you together, you’ll give it away. Sorry, but you will.”_

Though New York itself seemed fairly certain that Bucky Barnes had somehow survived as long as Steve had, the rest of the world was less convinced. Steve couldn’t blame them—half the time he was still pretty sure he was just going to wake up and all of this would be gone.

The subway lurched into motion and Bucky clawed his fingers into Steve’s jacket. “Fuck!”

Steve laughed. “You gotta hold on, remember?”

Bucky shot him a grumpy look. “Shuddup.”

With another laugh, Steve moved so that Bucky had room to hold onto the rail. It also involved Bucky moving right in front of him, allowing Steve to rock with the movements of the car and “accidently” press against Bucky. After a few moments Bucky caught on, and soon they were just a little bit more crammed in their spot than everyone else on the train.

Steve decided then and there that he wanted to use the subway more often.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well that was as boring as I expected,” Tony muttered as he and Steve walked from their video chat conference with Coulson and Fury.

Steve had been pretty bored too, if he was going to be completely honest. Their threat levels were at an all time low, not-so-coincidentally because HYDRA was still mostly offline. Intergalatic problems were being dealt with by Thor and the Asgardians, so there wasn’t much on the Avengers’ plate as a whole.

“That’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen Coulson,” Steve said, yawning into his hand for what he swore would be the last time that day.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Coulson always has a stick up his ass. I’m pretty sure he was born with one shoved up there.” They headed toward the elevator, though Tony’s bar was in the same direction, which is where Steve knew he was actually headed. “Hey, I was gonna go out to eat for lunch, wanna go?”

Steve shook his head. “I would, but I already told Bucky that I’d eat with him.”

“Right. Can’t compete with boyfriend privileges.”

“Tony!”

“What?” Tony’s brows rose. “I can’t!”

With a roll of his eyes, Steve stepped into the elevator. “I’ll text you later, maybe we can do dinner or something.”

“Yeah, yeah. Friends come second now, I get it.”

“Tony, you know that’s not—“

“I know it’s not. Go have fun, you virgin perv.”

The elevator doors shut before Steve could think up a reply. Virgin perv. That was a new one. At least Tony acknowledged he was still a virgin. That was a start.

He rubbed a hand over his face, forcing down another yawn. Briefings and conferences with Coulson always seemed to be more taxing than others. Coulson had a habit of explaining everything in absolutely unending detail. Today’s meeting had been cut short, thankfully, because Fury had unexpectedly needed to move locations. Tomorrow when they reconvened wouldn’t be too much fun though.

“—telling you, if you get up on a rooftop around here, nobody’s going to notice.”

Clint’s voice. Steve waited for the elevator doors to close behind him before slipping the rest of the way into the apartment.

“Someone will notice, I’m telling you. If they don’t notice me on the rooftop, they sure as hell are going to notice when the fucker’s brains spray all over the sidewalk,” Bucky said, his voice cold.

Steve paused, not daring to breathe. He’d never really been around for Clint and Bucky’s conversations , but this didn’t sound like anything two friends sat around and talked about.

“Silence the sniper, put a muzzle on it. Hit him where his spine meets his skull and his head’ll probably detach. Nobody’s going to have a bullet trajectory, and if they do, it’ll be easy to convince SHIELD not to bring it up,” Clint said darkly.

“Steve doesn’t know,” Bucky said quietly. “I don’t want him to—“

“Don’t want me to know what, Bucky?” Steve said, stepping into the kitchen where they were talking.

He had never seen Clint panic before, but boy did he panic then. In fact, he scrambled. Clint was like a dog on laminate, fighting for enough purchase to flee. Steve blocked him with a shoulder, but his eyes were on Bucky, who was staring at him like he’d just walked out of a spaceship.

“Don’t want me to know what?” Steve repeated, more sharply.

“Clint isn’t part of this,” Bucky said, slowly recovering. “Let him go.”

Steve turned his eyes on Clint, who started sweating bullets. He had really caught these two off guard.

“Whatever this is, Clint, you better be sure I’m going to hold you accountable if I find out you were part of it,” Steve growled.

“Mary, Joseph, and Jesus, just let me get the fuck outta here,” Clint whined.

Steve moved aside and Clint darted past and out the door before Steve could even turn to watch him go. Something bad was definitely happening here, and just from what he’d heard…

“Bucky, tell me what’s going on, right now,” Steve breathed.

“Sit down, Stevie,” Bucky said calmly, his gaze unreadable.

“I ain’t sittin’ down until you tell me what the hell is going on!” Steve snapped, his old accent punching through for a moment. “What did I just hear, Buck?”

“I’m gonna explain, just si—“ Bucky stopped talking when Steve advanced. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Steve cut.

Bucky swallowed once, and looked up at him. “Collin Roach. That’s the name of the punk kid who tried to kill you before. We found him—Clint found him at _my_ request—and I’m going to kill him.”

Steve paled, rage and astonishment warring in his blood.  Rage that Bucky Barnes would ever think about actually killing someone for harming him, and astonishment for the same reason. This was Bucky. Bucky Barnes, who had so often ducked away from conflict by meeting aggressors with a few warnings and witty comebacks. Even when he did come to Steve’s defense, he always backed off the moment enough pain was dealt.

Steve supposed that the war had changed that before the Russians did, but it still gave him an eerie feeling.

“What?” It was all he could say. Steve simply couldn’t fathom what he was hearing.

“He shot you three times. Maybe one would have been okay, trying to stay undercover or whatever. Not three.”

“You can’t just kill him!” Steve shouted, the tension finally causing him to snap. “You can’t just go killing a kid because he shot at me! Lots of people have shot at me!”

Bucky stood abruptly, getting in his face. “He almost took you away from me, Steve! He tried to kill you. With three bullets, he tried to kill you.”

“You kept this hidden,” Steve growled. “You knew I wouldn’t approve of this and you kept it from me. How long, Buck? How long have you been hiding this?”

“I kept it hidden ‘cause I know you wouldn’t do what needs done,” Bucky hissed.

Before he knew what he was doing, Steve had both hands fisted in Bucky’s shirt, just holding there. He could feel Bucky’s chest pushing against his knuckles as he breathed, followed quickly by warm breaths that traveled down his forearm. Bucky had lied to him and that made Steve’s heart hurt so bad he was sure it was bruised.

“Steve,” Bucky said carefully, looking up at him. “Let me show you. I can show you why it needs done.”

He wanted to walk out of the room and be anywhere else but looking at Bucky. He didn’t want to look at anything. “You lied to me,” he whispered.

Bucky shook his head, pain reaching his eyes. “No, I didn’t lie.”

Warm hands came to Steve’s hips, but Steve stepped away, pushing Bucky backward as he did so. “You didn’t tell me. You were going to kill an innocent person because of something they did months ago. How could you do that?”

“Just trust me, I’ll show you. I’ll show you, Stevie.”

Steve didn’t know if he could trust Bucky at this moment in time, but he realized he had to. Surely there was something he was missing here that Bucky was going to show him. There had to be, or Steve didn’t know what he was going to do.

“Okay.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief and pulled him in for a brief embrace. “Lemme show ya, Stevie.” He turned, grabbing a tablet from beneath a map of New York. Steve could see that Bucky’s hands were shaking as he clicked open the tablet and typed in the pass code.

Then Bucky just stared at it for a minute, his eyes raking over the hundreds of icons on the screen.

“Fuck,” he swore, tapping at a few apps. He skimmed through a few, and then his brow creased. “Gimme a minute…Clint’s the one who always uses these things…”

Steve waited with his jaw tight, glaring down at the tablet screen.

Bucky started getting frustrated a minute later.  “It’s right around here somewhere, I just can’t work this fuckin’ SHIELD software.”

“What are you looking for?” Steve asked.

“His goddamn file!” Bucky snapped. “I just had it up on here a minute ago!”

“Give it to me,” Steve said, snatching the tablet out of Bucky’s hands and quickly located the database where all SHIELD files were stored. He typed in the security code and pressed his fingertip on the sensor to it could be scanned.

Once he was through the security, he started a search for “Roach, Collin.” Only one result showed up.

Steve clicked on it and pulled up a picture of a young man with short blonde hair, the big nose that Steve remembered, and a lopsided smile. A kid, really. Collin was 23, grew up on a farm in Virginia, joined SHIELD when he was found hacking into agricultural GPS databases to sabotage crop plantings on farms that were siphoning water away from natural reserves.

“He was hired by Pierce,” Bucky said, looking over Steve’s shoulder at the screen. “So when HYDRA was found out, SHIELD immediately recruited him to go undercover. He was in a cell that was aware of our missions.”

“It says here that he tipped off SHIELD about the amount of people at the barn,” Steve said, though he was guessing that information had come too late, as they had been outnumbered. Embarrassingly enough, the most vivid memory of that mission was when the Winter Soldier had pressed up against his back while they moved through the arena.

“Yeah, after we were already in there,” Bucky muttered. “Anyway, his mission was to get promoted to find who was leadin’ his operations. We killed all his buddies, yet he still went against direct orders not to attempt to seriously injure any SHIELD operatives or SHIELD-affiliated operatives. He shot you three times and intended to kill you with ‘em.”

Steve tossed Bucky a look over his shoulder, brow cocked. “Have you been reading the SHIELD vocabulary handbook or somethin’?” It was a weak attempt at humor, but Steve had a habit of trying to drive away his own discomfort with poorly timed jokes.

“Shuddup.” Bucky gave him a little shove.

Steve cleared his throat, his somber mood returning. “I understand that you want to protect me, Bucky, but Collin is back with SHIELD. He did his duty and did it damn well, probably because he shot me. I’m fine.”

Bucky shook his head. “That ain’t good enough for me.”

Steve whipped around, disgusted. “So you’re going to kill him? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Bucky’s hands came to his face, his eyes blazing. “Nothin’s wrong with me. I’m protectin’ you, you understand?”

“This kid isn’t—“

“He already hurt you!” Bucky shouted. “He isn’t innocent, Steve. He already fuckin’ hurt you. I’m not riskin’ him finishin’ the job.”

“Bucky,” Steve said with a frown, gently prying Bucky’s hands from him. “There’s no danger, okay? Collin is on our side. You can’t kill him.”

Bucky swallowed hard, his face unchanging.

Steve laced their fingers together, looking him in the eye. He was angry, sure, but he was staring to understand. As usual, Bucky only wanted to protect him, but now he was not the same person that Steve had grown up with. Now he was a hardened assassin and soldier, and for people like him and Clint and Natasha, killing was the only permanent option.

“Listen to me, okay?” Steve waited until Bucky nodded. “You’re takin’ care of me. You always do. But you don’t need to worry about this. I’ll put him on a watch list, and we’ll look at him again just to make sure he’s not doing anything for HYDRA.” He gave Bucky’s hands a squeeze “Please, just don’t hurt him.”

“I gotta,” Bucky whispered.

Steve shook his head. “Think about it, Buck. Think about what would happen if you killed him and we figured out nothin’ was wrong.”

A frown formed on Bucky’s lips. He was deeply conflicted.

Steve released his hands and pulled him close, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair. Bucky was tense for a few moments, but gradually relaxed into the hold.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him,” Steve whispered.

Bucky shook his head.

“Then promise me you won’t hurt him unless he tries to do something. Not unless I’m in direct danger. Can you promise me that, Buck?”

A nod. “Promise.”

Steve closed his eyes, trying not to imagine what would have happened had he not interrupted this meeting. Clint was going to get his ass handed to him, that was for sure. Helping Bucky execute an assassination? What the hell was he thinking?

Of course, Bucky wasn’t innocent here, either, but Steve could see that he was frightened. Steve could understand it, though he didn’t agree with it. He would be pretty leery of someone who hurt Bucky, regardless of whose team they were on. But Steve was confident that Collin was no killer.

“Y’know, I’d promise more if ya kissed me,” Bucky said, voice muffled by Steve’s shoulder.

Instead of feeling uncomfortable, Steve laughed. “If you think I’m going to kiss you for plotting to kill someone, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Bucky nuzzled closer to his chest with a grunt. “Worth a try.”

With a fond smile, Steve ruffled Bucky’s hair. “You’re an idiot.”


	26. Chapter 26

The restaurant didn’t look like it was three stories up. The floors were fancy cobblestone, with Parisian lights twisting down from the ceiling to give the place a warm glow. Wooden pillars divided up the restaurant’s dining sections, focusing the eye to the expansive view out the window walls. The wait staff muttered to each other in French, complaining about how picky some of the customers were and whether or not the lady at another table was actually going to pay to get another steak because hers was too rare.

Steve adjusted his tie for the tenth time since arriving and turned his gaze to the entrance again, his blood thickening with impatience. Well, it was still early, but he’d wanted to make sure he arrived first.

He looked back out the window at the lunchtime rush below—crowds of people hurrying to grab a bite to eat and then scurrying back into their giant office skyscrapers like ants to their anthill. Steve was glad he’d never been part of that life. He’s been a dishwasher for a diner, helped a fruit stand, and occasionally taught an art class back in the day. Hard labor like the docks was too much for his body, and cleaning jobs proved to be too much for his lungs. To think his mother had almost signed him on to work in the subway tunnels. He would have died for sure.

When he looked back to the entrance, he stood, a smile finding its way to his lips as his guest arrived.

Collin Roach looked downright terrified. His tie was probably doing a great job suffocating him, judging by how red his cheeks were. When his eyes met Steve’s, the redness drained away until his features were so pale that Steve thought the man might throw up.

“Collin. Great to finally talk to you. I guess you got my invite okay?”

Collin nodded curtly, swallowing hard. “Uh, yes. Yes, sir. I got it just fine.”

Steve tried to smile wider in hopes that Collin wouldn’t be so scared. “Good. Let’s sit. And before we start: I’m not mad at you for shooting me.”

Collin flinched, but nodded before taking his seat. Steve followed suit and ordered them two cream sodas.

“So,” Steve started, taking a sip of his water. “How are things? I’ve heard good things about you from Coulson.”

The poor kid looked like he might faint any minute. Collin took a quick breath and then met Steve’s eyes with shaky resolve. “Uh, I…I was just promoted, sir. I took down a HYDRA operation in the Midwest and now I’m going to work on the team of operatives just below Coulson’s.”

“That’s quite the jump. Great work,” Steve said with a nod.

Collin actually let out a little smile. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I’ve been part of SHIELD for three years now. Four if you count my training year. I’m…I’m not like most recruits. I never went to college or anything. I grew up in the suburbs of Indianapolis, but most people just called it the country.”

“Yeah, I heard you were found hacking into agricultural GPS systems. What was that about?” Steve asked, then thanked their waiter as he brought their cream sodas.

“Yes, sir. I hacked into them when I found out that they were illegally siphoning water from natural reserves that were specifically set aside _not_ to be used by farms.” Collin rolled his eyes. “Of course, the media spun it as an attack on farmers, but it wasn’t. I just wasn’t going to let farms use the water that citizens needed.”

As Steve had suspected, Collin was bright. Not quite confident in himself yet (though that could simply be because of who he was talking to), but he was a good kid. Definitely no hints that he would have tried to kill Steve on purpose. Not yet, anyway.

“Can’t say I know a whole lot about how farms work nowadays,” Steve said with a shrug. “But I was told your work exposed a lot of bad things that had been going on in that area. SHIELD recruited you from there, then what?”

“I trained for a year, then worked communications interception. I wanted to be a real agent, you know, like the ones that get to see all the action and stuff. Instead, I was stuck at a desk most of the time. And, I accidently made friends with several HYDRA plants.” Collin took a sip of his soda, brow furrowing. “They were really nice guys. I still have trouble believing that they were really that bad.”

“But anyway,” Collin continued. “I worked there until the fallout in DC, and volunteered to go undercover. Due to my friendships with HYDRA that I hadn’t known about, I was put on duty.”

“That had to be difficult, especially without training,” Steve said after another sip of his drink.

Collin nodded. “Yeah, it was really tough. There were a few times I almost got caught, quite a few, actually. I think they were going to kick me out or kill me if I hadn’t…uh…”

“Shot me?” Steve finished with a hint of a smirk.

“Yeah. I’m so, so sorry about that, sir. So sorry. I can’t—If I would have killed you or—“

Steve put up a hand. “You didn’t, and that’s what matters to me. I can’t say I enjoyed being shot, but it’s over now. I’m better, no scars. I’m fine.”

Collin pushed out a breath, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Still, I never meant to shoot you like that. I really can’t believe I did that—I’ve never shot anyone before.”

Steve shook his head. “I understand. The first time you shoot someone is scary. And with us, staring at each other like that, it feels like ‘kill or be killed.’”

“That’s what I thought. I really thought you were going to kill me. I thought you were gonna jump in that car and stick a gun out and kill me and I was really freaked out.” Collin let out a shaky exhale. “Kinda freaks me out just thinking about it.”

Steve smiled. “You thought I was gonna kill you today, didn’t you?”

Collin laughed. “It crossed my mind, yeah.”

It could have been the day Collin met his end, but not by Steve. Bucky and Clint could have picked any day to snipe him from a rooftop, ending his life before he even knew what hit him. A good kid, dead because he’d injured the wrong guy. Steve didn’t blame Collin at all—he knew of several men in the war who had killed children on accident, thinking they were enemies. That kind of guilt never left. Thankfully, Collin didn’t have anything like that. And Steve would make sure that Bucky didn’t either.

Well, he wouldn’t let Bucky add to what was already there.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you,” Steve said gently. “I wanted to have lunch with you so that I could get that across. I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Collin looked at something over Steve’s shoulder, the newly replenished color in his face draining right back out.

“What about him?”

Steve turned to see Bucky stalking across the restaurant floor, a scowl carved into his features.

“Uh—“ Words weren’t going to be fast enough. Steve didn’t know what Bucky was going to do, so it was best he physically got in the way. He stood, gliding smoothly into Bucky’s path.

Bucky barely glanced at him, but he did stop.

“What the fuck are you doing, Steve,” Bucky growled, his voice rough.

“I’m having lunch,” he replied calmly. “Everything is okay. How did you even find me here?”

“Natasha tells you things if you ask in the right tone.”

Steve didn’t want to know how Bucky had managed to convince Natasha Romanoff to give up information.

“Well, you found me,” Steve said. “And I’m having lunch.” He stepped back carefully, unsure if Bucky was going to charge the opening and attack. “Buck, this is—“

“I know who it is,” Bucky snapped.

“Collin,” Steve continued. “We were just talking about what happened a few months ago.”

“When he almost killed you?” The venom was spraying from Bucky’s lips now, boiling hot.

Collin shriveled. “I-I didn’t mean to. I was just telling Captain—“

“Fuck you didn’t mean to!” Bucky roared, snapping the tiny thread of self-control holding him back.

Steve swooped in, cutting off Bucky’s advance with a shoulder to the man’s chest, his hands coming up to brace and hold. Restaurant patrons looked up in complete shock that someone dared to disturb the atmosphere they had worked hard to design here. This restaurant was not one that experienced brawls or even heated conversations aside from failed marriage proposals and horrible first dates.

Collin became so tense that Steve was sure the cords in his neck would snap if he moved at all.

“Bucky,” Steve warned, using the same voice he had during the war when Bucky beat on someone too much or made a cruel joke alluding to the death of them all.

Nostrils flared, Bucky didn’t back down. “The only reason you aren’t dead yet is because the man you almost killed has too big a heart, you fuck.”

Steve pushed harder into Bucky’s chest, trying to force the angle of his body into a neutral position in an attempt to subconsciously calm him down. It wasn’t working.

“I-I’m sorry. I mean it, I’m sorry!” Now Collin’s voice was shaking.

“Collin, it’s okay,” Steve said, his eyes on Bucky’s. “Just sit back down. It’s okay.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at him; he was glaring furiously at Collin instead. Steve heard the scrape of the chair as Collin took his seat again, but he also heard the legs rattling on the ground once the young man sat down.

“You were gonna try somethin’ weren’t ya?” Bucky snarled, shoving against Steve to try to get at Collin again. “What’d ya wanna do, huh? Poison his food? Or ya got a gun in there? The fuck were you gonna do? The _fuck_ were you gonna do?”

“Bucky, cool it!” Steve voice was raised now, trying to diffuse this before Collin got hurt. He wasn’t worried about Bucky.

Thankfully, his sharp tone of voice finally punctured Bucky’s rage. The other man pulled back sharply, and gave Steve a hard shove.

“I warned you about him! I fuckin’ warned you, Steve!”

“I know,” Steve soothed. “You did. It was my choice to have lunch, not his. I wanted to talk to him to—“

“You coulda gotten killed!”

“You’re hurting me, Buck,” Steve said gently, shifting his arm where Bucky’s metal hand was crushing into his bicep.

Bucky quickly relaxed his grip. “You organized a fuckin’ lunch with the kid who almost killed you. What the flyin’ fuck were you thinkin’?”

Steve’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “I told you what I thought about Collin. And after talking to him, I still think he just acted in the heat of the moment. He didn’t mean to—“

“Fuck if he meant to or not,” Bucky hissed. “You did this behind my back.”

Steve sighed. “I did not do this behind your—“

“Then you were bein’ really fuckin’ inconsiderate,” Bucky cut.

“How the hell am I being inconsiderate, Bucky?” Steve was not going to put up with the sour attitude. He had organized this lunch like he organized any other one. He didn’t need to inform Bucky of his entire itinerary for the day.

“You knew how I felt about him. You knew I was fuckin’ worried about somethin’ like this happening and then you go and put yourself right in the situation I told you I was afraid of!”

Steve blinked. “That is not what I’m doing. I came here to talk to Collin.”

“And to put yourself in danger, Steve. This time it ain’t like goin’ to the picture show all by yourself, riskin’ gettin’ beat up. It’d take two seconds for this guy to blow your head off.”

“I would never do that!” Collin interjected and Steve immediately hooked an arm around Bucky’s torso to stop his lunge.

“Collin, please,” Steve said, throwing back a reassuring smile. “I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this,” Bucky snorted. “I’m ‘this,’ huh? I’m the problem you’ve gotta handle?”

“Don’t even start. You _are_ being a problem right now. You stormed into this restaurant and now you’re causing a scene for no reason.”

Hurt flickered in Bucky’s eyes, prompting a sharp sting in Steve’s chest. But he didn’t take back what he said, because it was true—Bucky had just come in and started a fight for no good reason.

“You’re the reason, Steve,” Bucky spat. “Your fuckin’ safety is the reason. If I’m not supposed to start somethin’ when your safety is concerned, then fuck, I’m sorry.” He pushed away from Steve and sent a glare to Collin that was so sharp Steve expected Collin to physically recoil.

“And _you_ ,” Bucky growled. “If you so much as touch him, I’ll tear your limbs off and tie ‘em back on with your insides.”

Collin just nodded, too afraid to speak.

“Hey, why don’t you have lunch with us?” Steve offered, taking a step forward. It probably wasn’t the best idea that he’d ever come up with, but if Bucky could see Collin’s innocence, all of this could be avoided.

“I ain’t watchin’ you die, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice low.

Steve hated it when Bucky got this way. “Nothing is going to happen, Buck. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He reached forward, his fingers gently brushing Bucky’s flesh shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it spoke volumes between them.

But Bucky still shook his head. “There’s a patio two floors up. That’s where I’ll be.”

“Stay,” Steve murmured, his hand falling away. “Please.”

“No. If I sit down and somethin’ happens to you and I have to just watch…No. I’m goin’ up there. If you need me, you call. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“So you don’t think I’m safe here and you’re just going to leave me? That doesn’t sound like you,” Steve said evenly.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and a nasty snarl came to his lips. “You’ve made it pretty damn clear you don’t want me in your business. Don’t fuckin’ try to make me feel guilty about not wantin’ to sit around with someone who shot you.” He stepped back. “You knew how I felt about this guy and you went behind my back. So no, I’m not gonna have lunch.” With a final angry huff, Bucky turned on his heel and stormed away.

Now Steve just felt like a jerk.

He sat down, staring at his plate.

“Uh, who was that? I mean, I remember him, but what’s his name again?” Collin asked after a long moment.

Steve shook his head. Tony had told him not to give up any information about Bucky’s identity to anyone. Not if he wanted to keep their relationship quiet. Not even Collin could know.

“Well, you should talk to him,” Collin said decidedly, though his voice was shaking. “I don’t think we really need to discuss anything else. I’m sorry for shooting you—I could say that all day—and you aren’t here to kill me and I’m not here to kill you. “

Steve looked up, chewing his bottom lip. Guilt was festering in his gut. Had he gone behind Bucky’s back? It hadn’t been intentional, but…he supposed that didn’t matter. Bucky was still angry and hurt and it was Steve’s fault.

“We haven’t even gotten our food yet,” Steve said pathetically. He was still kind of in a shock—he hadn’t seen Bucky that furious since he was the Winter Soldier.

“I’d feel awful if you paid for my food after I’m the one who shot you,” Collin said with a tight swallow. “I’ve got the cream sodas. Go talk to your friend and I’ll get going.”

Politeness ran through Steve’s blood thicker than the serum. “No, no. I invited you all the way across town for lunch and I’m—“

“Captain, please. Anything we would talk about is a lot less important than talking to that guy. And the last thing I want to do is give him reason to be more pissed at me.”

Steve nodded once, but left a five on the table before jogging out of the restaurant to make his way upstairs.

 

It was pretty obvious where Bucky had gone through to get to the patio. He left a wake of frightened law office workers, who pointed Steve to a hallway that led to a large sliding glass door in an unused part of the office building. It smelled a bit like mildew in the empty hallways as me made his way to the door.

His heart jumped into his throat when he saw Bucky sitting on the concrete guard wall, feet dangling over the busy street below.

Steve didn’t think he would jump—and honestly if Bucky could survive falling into a frozen river from God knows how high up, falling five stories wouldn’t kill him. Still, Steve panicked a little as he rushed outside.

“Bucky?”

The other man didn’t respond.

With a sigh, Steve decided to climb up on the ledge with him. He was a little shaky on the concrete because, well, falling would mean some pretty serious injuries, but he managed to take a seat beside Bucky, brushing shoulders with him.

“Hey,” Steve said, as though Bucky hadn’t just screamed at him in front of an entire restaurant.

“Don’t you have a lunch date?” Bucky muttered, picking at the concrete with a metal finger.

“Nah. Cancelled.”

Bucky leaned into him a little and Steve took comfort in the gesture, closing his eyes to feel the wind against his face.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about having lunch with Collin. I didn’t mean to go behind your back or anything. I didn’t.”

Bucky sighed, still looking down at his hands. “Do you at least understand why I got upset?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. But my gut was telling me that Collin was a good guy. When you were convinced he wasn’t, then I had to make sure, because when you think something’s up, it very well could be. Usually it is.”

“He’s a bad egg, Steve,” Bucky growled. “He ain’t good.”

Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s metal forearm in a silent show that he wanted this topic to end. “Let’s not talk about whether Collin is good or bad. The reason I had lunch with him is because I wanted to judge for myself.”

“And you put yourself in danger!” Bucky made a gesture with his hands, trying to get Steve to understand his frustration. “Do you not see how dangerous that was?”

“You’re right, I would have acted differently if I thought that Collin was a threat.”

“You should have at least told me,” Bucky said, glaring at him.

Steve dipped his head, looking very much like a scolded dog. “I saw it as something I was handling myself.”

Silence settled between them for a few moments and Bucky chewed his bottom lip.

“You really scared me, Steve,” he finally said, quietly.

Guilt swelled up in Steve’s chest, threatening to block off his air supply. He’d really messed up and he knew that. But he still felt like he had needed that talk with Collin and he was still angry that Bucky had wanted to kill an innocent person.

“You did a lot of horrible things as the Winter Soldier,” Steve said. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I also know you remember it. No matter how much you’ve healed in these past few months, I know you can’t possibly be completely okay.” Steve nodded once, as though to reassure himself. “So when I heard that you wanted to kill Collin, who’s practically just a kid, _I_ was scared. Some things about you have changed, but I’m not going to let that be one of those things.”

His throat started to close up when Bucky didn’t answer, and his heartbeat accelerated so fast that he had to ignore his instinctual urge to start coughing.

“You…You have too much blood on your hands already. I love you too much to let you add any more.”

Everything went still. Steve could feel his words weighing down the air around him and he wanted to take them back, to suck them back up and pretend he hadn’t said them. Now was not the time to have said he loved Bucky. It was a horrible time. He had wasted—

“I knew you loved me, ya punk,” Bucky said, a grin curling on his lips. “I wouldn’t’ve stuck around if I didn’t.”

Just like that, Steve was smiling wider than he ever had before. The panic had given way to a surreal kind of excitement he had never experienced. He had loved Peggy, but never said it. Now he was pumped so full of happiness that he didn’t think it would ever end.

So happy, in fact, that he leaned over, his eyes locked with Bucky’s. Bucky’s brow lifted, but his smile didn’t change.

It was when Steve felt Bucky’s breath on his lips that he paused. Saying he loved Bucky for the first time was exciting enough, but maybe—

Before he could pull away, Bucky’s lips caught his.

Steve jumped a little, but only because he’d expected to be the one to initiate the kiss, not Bucky. Thankfully, Bucky knew him well enough to see when he hesitated.

This kiss wasn’t like any one before it. There was no lashing feeling of wrongness, no part of him that said this wasn’t right. The only awkwardness was from the fact that they were sitting on a concrete ledge, but Bucky’s metal fingers sliding up his arm was just as good as whatever sort of embracing they would be doing anywhere else.

And his lips—Jesus, his lips. Before, Steve had imagined them to taste like cherries, matching their ruby color. But they didn’t taste like cherries. The only way to describe them was to say they tasted like _Bucky_. Sweet, warm, soft. Addicting. Steve parted his lips a little more, leaning into Bucky’s mouth to somehow improve on this already perfect kiss.

It ended far too quickly.

Bucky pulled away with a little gasp, thumbing at Steve’s cheek. Steve hadn’t even realized that Bucky’s hand had been on his face at all, but he leaned into the touch anyway.

“Know what I told Natasha last week?” Steve asked, his voice taking on a husky quality he’d never heard before.

“What’s that?”

“Nobody says ‘I love you’ before they’ve even had a first kiss.” Steve smiled, lost in the ocean of Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky chuckled, resting their foreheads together and moving his one hand down to rest against Steve’s neck and shoulder. “Well, we ain’t like anybody else, are we?”

“Nope.”

Steve closed his eyes, unable to stop smiling. Every part of him was absolutely flooded with adrenaline and euphoria. It was unbelievable that such wild bliss could come from being around one person. But he supposed that was what love was—he’d just never really experienced it this way before. Maybe he hadn’t loved Peggy, he’d just thought he did.

“I love you too, by the way,” Bucky murmured with a fond nuzzle.

A strong wind blew, and Steve immediately snapped a hand up to hold tightly to Bucky. Not out of fear, but to protect his best friend. The man he loved. The man who now knew he loved him.

“I know you do,” Steve said, pressing a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips, too quickly for Bucky to respond to it. He still wasn’t entirely confident in his kissing ability, though the starry look in Bucky’s eyes was promising.  “But let’s get off this thing, huh?”

“Always worried aren’t ya?” Bucky chuckled with a roll of his eyes.

Once they were down from the edge, they met eyes again, and Steve was the first to bust out laughing. Both of them were just smiling like idiots, though Bucky was wearing it better. So much better that Steve wanted to kiss him again. 

“Jesus, Rogers, you gonna fly home or what?” Bucky managed once he was through laughing. “Come on. Let’s go get somethin’ to eat since I ruined your lunch date.”

“Burgers?” Steve asked hopefully.

Bucky laughed. “Whatever ya want. But you better stop lookin’ like I just kissed ya. Ya might as well have lipstick on your face, Stevie.”

Steve blushed beet red, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yep. It’s a good thing it looks cute on ya,” Bucky said with a grin, which caused Steve to blush even harder as they stepped back inside the building. He took a shaky breath, but he was still over the moon. He would probably stay that way for the rest of his life—it was just that potent of happiness.

Natasha was going to freak. Especially when he told her that the kiss came after. Steve already decided that she would be the first person he told.

 

* * *

 

 

But the next morning, it wasn’t Natasha who found out first. It was Tony Stark, who, while waiting for DUM-E to hurry the hell up with his coffee, decided to pick up the newspaper that Pepper insisted they still subscribe to.

It was a good thing he didn’t have his drink, because he would have spit it out.

There, splayed out on the front page of the _Times_ , was Steve Rogers playing tonsil hockey with Bucky Barnes. If that wasn’t bad enough, the title was a shock-inducing PR nightmare: CAPTAIN AMERICA: SOLDIER, HERO…HOMOSEXUAL?

Tony swallowed hard, every swear word in his vocabulary streaming through his head.

“Jarvis, call everyone. And get Rogers and Barnes up here _now_.”

The shit storm was about to begin.

“I will inform Mr. Rogers to see you immediately. But Mr. Barnes is currently approaching Time Square on his morning run.”

_Fuck._


	27. Chapter 27

Steve had thought his worst nightmare about his relationship with Bucky was someone beating Bucky up for being gay. This, though, was a million times worse.

It started with a call from Coulson demanding that he look at the paper. Then came a lecture about how SHIELD needed to be informed of these types of things so that newspaper articles didn’t catch them off guard. He also mentioned something about swaying the media, but Steve could barely stand up, let alone make out Coulson’s words on the phone.

He’d been so stupid. Being on a ledge on the side of a building did not constitute privacy. Whoever had taken the shot was probably in just the other building over, shooting through a window. Yet Steve hadn’t even thought about it as he leaned right over in broad daylight and kissed Bucky. Exactly what Tony told him not to do.

Then came the call from Tony himself, demanding he get upstairs, pronto. Steve didn’t know how he managed to move his feet, especially once he realized what— _who_ —was missing.

There was a crowd of people in sharp business dress who made it to Tony’s suite before he did. They bombarded Steve upon entry, asking a million questions, prodding him, and one woman was even taking his measurements.

“Hey—Hey! Back off him, will you? Jesus, get the fuck out of here and go do a focus group or something!” Tony shouted over the people, forcing his way through them to get a hold of Steve. “C’mere, Spangles. Come with me.”

The businesspeople followed after them like ducklings until Tony turned around and snapped at them a second time. Steve was shaking by the time he actually got into…Tony’s bedroom?

Sure enough, that was where they were. A massive bed took up part of the room, the covers tight and neat as though Tony hadn’t slept in them since he’d bought the thing. That was probably true. The modern style extended flawlessly throughout the space, clearly every piece had been handpicked and placed exactly in the right spot. But it wasn’t Tony. There wasn’t a lick of technology in sight except for the massive TV.

Even so, Steve always felt like he was invading someone’s privacy when he was in their bedroom, so he awkwardly shifted on his feet.

Tony was staring out the window, rubbing his chin. When he turned and saw Steve standing there, he rolled his eyes. “Oh please, sit down. Sprawl out on the bed if you want.”

“I want Bucky back here,” Steve said.

Tony’s eyes softened a little. “I know. But you don’t have to worry about anything happening, Steve.”

“Well I am.” He crossed his arms, picking at the crook of his elbow. All he could see in his head was a gang of boys, though he could only imagine the scene taking place before the war. Bucky being caught in a dead-end alley, trying to run. Steve could just imagine the realization hitting him that he wasn’t getting out, the powerful turn as he tried to pretend he could take them all on.

“Hey.” Tony waved a hand in front of his face. “What did he say?”

Steve could see Bucky’s face being beaten in, an endless pummeling—

“What?”

Tony’s eyebrows went up. “What did he say?”

“What did who say?”

“Bucky! What did he say?”

Steve blinked stupidly, fighting to understand.

Tony passed a hand over his face with a sigh. “Tell me you called him.”

Steve made a startled noise and jammed a hand in his pocket to fish out his phone. Calling people on a cell phone was still something he forgot he was able to do sometimes.

“You didn’t even call him?!?” Tony blurted out. “Some boyfriend you are!”

Steve cut him a glare and held the phone to his ear after punching in Bucky’s number. His hand was shaking as it rang, and he nervously looked at Tony, who just shook his head and rolled his eyes again.

“Hello?”

Steve jumped, clutching the phone to his ear with both hands. “Bucky?”

“Who else would it be?”

Relief flooded through him. Bucky could still talk, so he wasn’t in danger yet. “Bucky, you need to come back here right now. Please. Hurry as fast as you can.”

“I know, Stevie. I’m comin’ back.”

“Well run, dammit! Get back here!” Steve was panicking, gripping the phone so hard it could have cracked right in half.

There were sounds of the phone shifting, then a steady rhythm of shuffling. “I’m runnin’, okay? I’m runnin’.” A pause. “Shit.”

“What? What is it?” Steve’s heartbeat lurched into overdrive and Tony’s lips bunched up, clearly regretting his decision to remind Steve about Bucky’s phone.

“Reporters. Didn’t think they’d find me,” Bucky said, taking bigger breaths between his words as he ran. Then Bucky’s voice was muffled and far away: “Get the fuck outta my way, pal. Yeah, you! Get outta my way!”

“Tell him not to yell at them,” Tony said, staring at Steve. “Tell him to say nothing to them and just get back here.”

“Tony says not to talk to them. Buck, just get back here.”

“Fuck Tony,” Bucky snapped.

“I can hear that, asshole!” Tony shouted into the phone.

“Bucky, please,” Steve begged, his voice shaking. “Just listen to Tony and get back here safe.”

“I’m gonna be just fine, Steve. Hear me? Just fine. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes and you can track my phone the whole way. Stop worryin’.”

Steve swallowed. “I’m always gonna worry. Can’t let all that stupid be out there alone.”

Bucky let out a breathy laugh. “I love you, Stevie. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“Love you too,” Steve managed to say before they hung up. His cheeks flushed red because he’d said that in Tony’s presence, but Tony was just making dramatic faces at him and clutching his heart.

“Stop worryin’, Stevie.” Tony spun around, hand on his heart, and his voice went higher pitched. “I’ll always worry about you, Bucky-boo.”

“Shut up,” Steve growled, but he was smiling a little.

The door opened and Bruce rushed inside, his glasses askew and a few papers falling out of his hands that he hurriedly tried to scoop up again. “Steve! God, I’m glad you’re here—I thought you went out on your run.”

“Good to see you too,” Tony muttered.

Bruce frowned. “Sorry. Hi, Tony.” He looked back to Steve again, concern furrowing his brow. “I came up here as soon as I heard. How are you? How’s Bucky?”

“Bucky is on his way back right now. I’m…I’m okay.” Steve hadn’t had the time to really think about what this meant yet. He was just worried about Bucky right now.

Bruce offered a smile. “It’ll be fine. The media can be annoying, but nothing is going to happen to him. He’ll be safe.”

“Everyone keeps saying that!” Steve shouted suddenly.

Tony and Bruce both jumped to attention, glanced at each other, and then took a few steps closer at the same time.

“Look. If this were the forties, I’d be freaking out too,” Tony said. “Things aren’t perfect now, but in this city—in this day and age? Bucky’s fine. Besides, if anyone touched him, he’d fuck ‘em up with that arm.”

That didn’t make him feel any better.

“Here, why don’t you sit down?” Bruce offered, showing Steve to the end of Tony’s bed. Steve reluctantly took the seat, but it did nothing for his nervousness.

“Tony, I think you should explain what’s going on out there,” Bruce said, readjusting his glasses.

Tony frowned, then nodded. “Basically, the reason everyone’s flipping out is because this isn’t how you reveal this type of thing. When you don’t slip the papers any feeders on how to leak things, this is what happens.”

“Tony’s referring to the title of the article,” Bruce said, looking pained. He and Steve both knew how bad this could be for Bucky’s mental state.

“Yeah. Like, first of all, nobody uses ‘homosexual’ anymore. It has a negative connotation now. And the way the article’s worded makes it sound like you were lying to the public about your sexuality. So I called everyone who does PR and media for me—and trust me, this is nothing compared to what they’ve had to cover up before.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want it covered up. It’s out now. I’m not going to lie about it to that papers.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah—No, I figured that. What I’m saying is that they’re going to try to turn this into a positive thing and not a scandal, which is what it is right now.”

Steve wanted to argue that this wasn’t a scandal, but he knew better. He certainly knew enough to know that had this happened seventy years ago, Bucky would be bleeding out on the street right now, without question.

“So these next few days, you’re going to have to listen to what we tell you, okay? I know you hate doing that, but if you want the media to forget about this, you have to do it.” Tony looked saddened as Steve nodded.

“It won’t be difficult,” Bruce said. “It’ll just be simple things, like going on a date. You just have to pretend like the reporters aren’t there and go about your business. Play it up a little and have fu—“

“Steve.”

Steve’s head snapped up and he shoved through Bruce and Tony to get to a slightly sweaty Bucky. He grabbed him in a crushing hug and heard the air in Bucky’s lungs blow right out past his ear.

“God, Buck,” Steve breathed, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bucky’s arms came to tightly wrap around him, and Bucky’s lips pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head.  “I’m okay. I didn’t talk to anyone, everything’s fine.”

But Steve wasn’t going to let go anytime soon, and Bucky seemed fine with that.

“I just kept imagining things, and thinking about people hurting you and—“

“Well none a that happened,” Bucky soothed, rubbing Steve’s back. He did squeeze tighter though, and Steve could feel that Bucky had been just as scared, though he was significantly better at hiding it.

“No one did anything? No one said anything?”

Bucky’s hand stopped its circles on Steve’s back, and didn’t answer.

Steve pulled back, his features darkening. “Bucky.”

With a shake of his head, Bucky leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Steve’s. “You just forget about it. No one did anything to me, and what they said wasn’t near as bad as I thought.” He smiled. “Some people were cheerin’ n’ stuff. It wasn’t all bad.”

Cheering? Steve could not imagine people cheering about this.

“What about you, huh?” Bucky asked, pulling back again and rubbing Steve’s arms. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Steve murmured, slipping a hand up to caress Bucky’s jaw. “I was so worried.”

Bucky bit his lip with a nod. “I was worried about you too. If you’d gone out to get coffee or somethin’ and were stuck out there. But you’re okay?”

Steve didn’t even care that they’d already asked each other that question what felt like a hundred times. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“ ‘N I’m sorry about all a this. Yesterday, I shoulda stopped when you did, I didn’t even think about us bein’ outside—“

“Buck, no.” Steve leaned forward, pressing his lips to Bucky’s without a second thought.

It was another perfect kiss, reassuring in all of the ways their hands could not be. He could taste Bucky’s fear, his nervousness, and Steve knew Bucky could taste his.

“I’m glad it happened. I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Steve whispered when he pulled away.

Tony cleared his throat behind them, but neither man paid him any attention.

“So what’re we gonna do?” Bucky asked. “I can go under for awhile. You can say I forced ya or somethin’—“

Steve blinked, shocked. But a part of him wanted to say yes, to cover all of this up even though he knew how horribly wrong it would be, both to Bucky and to everybody else. But especially Bucky.

He shook his head. “No. It’s out. I already told Tony and Bruce that I don’t want this covered up.”

Bucky swallowed hard. Steve knew that look: it meant Bucky didn’t like that idea.

“I’m not gonna hurt you that way. I’m not keepin’ you a secret when the secret’s already out,” Steve said quietly.

“Steve.” Bucky sighed. “You sure that’s the best idea? Nobody knows who I am yet. They know you. You’re gonna be the target, you know that.” Bucky’s fingers curled into the back of Steve’s shirt. “This ain’t fair to you.”

Steve reached behind him to grab Bucky’s hands, gently tugging them free from his shirt and lacing their fingers together; cold metal on one side, warmth in the other.

“You think I’m gonna go out there by myself?” Steve cocked a brow, a little smirk finding its way to his lips. “No way. I’m draggin’ you with me.”

They could have kissed again, but they didn’t. They didn’t need to. There was enough strength between the two of them already to take the first steps into this new chapter. Steve wasn’t necessarily confident, but as long as Bucky was at his side, he could take a bit of uncertainty.

“Are we wrapping up here?” Tony interjected, waving his hands.

Steve let out a chuckle and nodded. “Yeah, we’re wrapped up.” He glanced at Bucky and gave his hand another squeeze.

“Sure you don’t need a few minutes in my closet to sort out your missing each other?”

“Stark,” Bucky warned, eyes narrowing.

Tony laughed. “All right, calm down, Terminator. Let’s get this started, shall we? We have lots of bullshit to deal with.”

Steve felt Bucky’s eyes on him, and when he turned his head, Bucky was looking at him strangely.

“What?”

“You really ready to do this?”

Steve nodded. “I am. Are you?”

Bucky bit his lip, but nodded. “Scared as hell, but that’s why they put you in charge.” He smiled and knocked Steve’s shoulder with his own.

“Come on, come on,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. He held open the door and Steve walked out with Bucky, their hands tightly clasped together, metal on flesh.

Camera flashes started going off and Steve tensed, but Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re not reporters. They’re taking pictures to send to the magazines. Only the good ones that’ll help all of this blow over. You’re safe here.”

Steve gave Bruce a grateful nod and thumbed the smooth curve of metal that made up the side of Bucky’s palm. They could do this. They had the best people working on it and they would make it through.

“Mr. Stark, what’s our timeframe for damage control?” a woman asked, looking up from her tablet for only a second.

“Fast as possible,” Tony replied, his arms crossed. “What kind of timeframe are you thinking?”

“Well…” the woman swayed her head back and forth as she poked at her screen. “The Captain’s popularity is currently at an all time high, and still climbing. But the opinions are divided. I’m thinking full press tour, advocacy, the whole nine yards.”

Steve paled. He could talk about himself and Bucky and their relationship, but he had no idea if he could advocate for gay couples everywhere. He had absolutely no idea how to do that, or if he even wanted to. His relationship with Bucky was a private matter.

“And what if he doesn’t wanna be your poster boy?” Bucky asked, his gaze steady.

The woman frowned. “I suppose we’ll have to think of something else if that’s the case.”

“I agree with Bucky,” Bruce said with a nod. “Using Steve as a mascot for gay relationships is just going to be reusing his position during the war effort. I don’t think that’ll be effective.”

“What about him?” a young man asked, pointing a pen at Bucky.

“What _about_ him?” Steve returned, already getting defensive. Bucky tapped his thumb on the side of Steve’s palm instead of squeezing it. Bucky never squeezed his hands that hard for fear of shattering the bone on accident.

“We can use…”

“Bucky. My name is Bucky.”

“We can use Bucky,” the young man said. “Make him the spotlight here. Maybe somehow combine…wait, Bucky Barnes? As in, James Buchanan Barnes?”

The whole room paused and all eyes were on Bucky, the gazes inquisitive and a little terrifying in their intensity.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Bucky said, his eyes scanning the room. He stood up a little straighter and took a breath.

“That’s a good angle,” the woman said without skipping a beat. She seemed to be in charge. “Make Bucky the focus.”

“Were you two together during the war?” another woman asked, peering at them over her glasses.

“No,” Steve and Bucky answered at the same time.

If anyone was surprised, they didn’t show it.

“Okay, we need to shut that down right away, then,” the woman with the glasses said. “Distance this from World War II and make it clear this wasn’t some scandal from the forties.”

“Keegan, you and Joe start in on that. Contact Coulson at SHIELD and get all of the info on Mr. Barnes that you can. We’re making him into the hero here. I want him to look like an angel by the time you’re through,” the woman in charge said.

Two young men, Keegan and Joe, nodded curtly and headed for the door.

“And keep this all in this century. No connections to the war,” she called after them.

“Are you two getting married? Engaged?” a man asked, scratching his thick beard.

Steve’s mouth dropped open, unable to formulate a response. He hadn’t even thought about that. Dating a man was one thing, but marriage? He wasn’t sure he was ready to start going down that path of thinking just yet.

“You think I’m buyin’ Captain America a big fancy diamond?” Bucky asked with a little snort. “I’m goin’ steady with him, I ain’t thinkin’ about that shit yet.”

“Stuff, Mr. Barnes,” the woman said. “Stuff, not shit.”

Bucky pursed his lips, shooting her a glare.

“We haven’t talked about any of that yet,” Steve said in an attempt to soothe the topic away.

“So just dating. We can work with that,” the bearded man said with a nod.

“Wounded Warrior Project!”

The woman in charge straightened, looking around for the source of the voice. “Who said that?”

A man with slicked back hair and a pair of glasses too big for his face stepped forward through the crowd. “Wounded Warrior Project. Bucky is a Wounded Warrior.” The man looked down at his tablet. “I’m looking at their donation figures and they’ve been declining for the past two years. Wounded Warriors can bring the Captain and Bucky in together, they can support the cause, and all of the publicity will help Wounded Warriors and calm the media frenzy about the relationship.”

Steve frowned. He’d met many soldiers part of the Wounded Warriors program, and it seemed like a cheap shot to use such a great organization to help calm a media firestorm.

“I don’t like it,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “Those men and women—“

“Need a rallying point, Mr. Rogers,” said the woman heading the operation. “Quite frankly, no one associated with the Avengers qualifies as a Wounded Warrior in the eyes of the public, but Bucky does. Those men and women need to see someone like Bucky contributing to the community. Yes, a Wounded Warriors press tour will be something used to repair the negative image about your relationship, but at a greater benefit to the cause.”

“She’s got a point,” Tony said. “People are gonna be all over this, trying to show support, Steve. Giving them an avenue to do that is going to benefit those wounded soldiers big time. And you two are going to be the highest profile veterans this country has. The fact that you’re gay for each other is going to trail blaze in a huge way for other soldiers. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is supposed to be outlawed, but gay and lesbian soldiers are still abused constantly.”

Steve hadn’t been in the war with feelings for Bucky, but he couldn’t imagine the terror he would have felt if he had. Helping one soldier with that would be worth it. Steve had also seen the effects the war had on men and women—not just physically, but emotionally. He experienced it too, and now he was dating a man who had the physical consequences as well as the emotional ones.

“Don’t think of it as putting up smoke,” Bruce added. “You can do this in a way that keeps it strictly focused on both of you, but why do that when you can help all of these people? It’s your choice what you do. You can _pretend_ that Wounded Warriors is something important to you, or you can show everyone how important it is to you already.”

It was important to Steve that wounded veterans received support. Bucky probably had the best prosthetic ever invented, but even that had its issues. If he slept on it wrong, his sides hurt. He felt he had to hide it in public all the time unless he was with Steve. If it ever malfunctioned, like the one time Bucky had made toast and accidently pulled out the bread with his metal hand, it hurt like hell. Not to mention that Bucky had to be careful whenever he touched someone for fear of accidently hurting them.

Steve looked at Bucky, who nodded once before turning back to the crowd.

“Let’s do it,” Bucky said. “I don’t know what the hell you fellas are talkin’ about, but if Steve wants to do it, I’m all in.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Quite frankly, it’s downright insulting that most of you people are here just because my friend Steve kissed a man. Really, what kind of integrity does the American media have anymore? And you—what are you? European? You flew all the way out here for this? I don’t know whether to be disappointed or horrified that your company paid all that money for you to be here.”

Tony stood at a lectern, hands on the edges as if he were holding it in place. A table stood behind him, decorated with two evenly spaced microphones, placards with Steve and Bucky’s names, and glasses of water for each of them.

“And what are you doing?” Tony flicked his hand toward a cameraman. “Is this live? You trust me not to say something horrific right now? If this were my announcement, you’d learn your lesson, but it isn’t. Anyway…”

“He’s gotta knack for this kind thing,” Bucky said as he peeked through the crack in the door.

Steve could only nod because his throat was too knotted up to speak. He was starting to regret this idea—public speaking wasn’t his strong suit unless he had lines. Writing down a speech for this kind of thing didn’t seem personal enough, so he’d just been practicing verbally for the past few days with Bucky. He was thoroughly terrified of going out there and blowing it, even after Bucky reassured him that he would do an amazing job.

“We’re almost up,” Bucky said, leaning back and away from the door. He tuned to Steve with a crooked smile. “You gonna be okay?”

“I dunno,” Steve answered pathetically. “I want to do this, but I just…I dunno.” He took an uneasy breath, shifting on his feet.

Bucky reached up to ruffle his hair, then gripped his shoulder and gave it a knead. “You’ll do just fine. I told ya already, you’ll blow em outta the water.”

Nervousness tangled up tightly in his gut, but Steve nodded. His palms were starting to sweat. Of course he’d done press conference things before, but never about something this personal. Never about anything that would be considered only gossip in many circles. And from what he’d seen on he news, many people thought this announcement was going to be a defiant claim that Steve was not gay at all.

Half of Steve wanted to say he wasn’t. He didn’t feel gay, if that made any sense. If he thought about himself as gay, it made his stomach twist up. He loved Bucky. Did that have to make him gay?

“So when we go out there, what should we do?” Bucky asked, glancing out at where Tony was telling a story about Rhodey, who was glaring at him from Pepper’s side.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, should we hold hands or kiss or somethin’?” Bucky swallowed, turning his head away.

Steve knew the moment they stepped out would be important, but he had no knowledge of how to navigate 21st century media. The people that did were running around with mics in their ears, monitoring the reporters.

“Let’s just walk out,” Steve said after a moment. “Right now we’re announcing the campaign. I don’t want people speculating that this is just a PR stunt.”

“It sorta is, Stevie,” Bucky said with a chuckle.

“A little bit, but this is important to me,” Steve replied. “A lot of soldiers need this organization, and I’ve seen the good it does. I can’t say I’ve actively been involved, but Sam swears by it. That’s good enough for me.”

“Yeah? Well, if Sam says it’s good, then it has to be good.” The smirk on Bucky’s lips had Steve cocking a brow.

He wasn’t surprised when Bucky kissed him, but he did chuckle.

“Sam’s here today, y’know,” Steve said once their lips parted.

“Well shit, I better be on my best behavior,” Bucky smiled. “And I owe him a steering wheel.”

“You owe him a car, Buck,” Stave laughed. “Come on, let’s get out there before Tony embarrasses us any more.”

“—introduce my two vintage collectables: Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant Bucky Barnes. The tandem two, the inseparable star-crossed—“

“That’s enough, Stark,” Bucky said, gently shoving him aside. Tony laughed before hopping down to the wings where various military personnel, Wounded Warrior Project personnel, and SHIELD agents were watching attentively.

The reporters massed in front of them were snapping pictures so fervently that it was hard to see, but Steve managed to find his seat beside Bucky, squinting out into the crowd.

Bucky cleared his throat and the commotion died down, all eyes on them.

Steve could hardly breathe, he was so nervous. This hadn’t happened to him since the first time he’d gone out on stage as Captain America, with his lines pasted on the back of his shield. Thank god Bucky hadn’t been there to see that.

“First off, thank you all for coming today,” Steve started with a bit of a shaky voice. He took a breath before continuing.

“When I first joined the US Army, it was because a Dr. Erskine chose me to be a test subject for his super soldier experiment. It wasn’t the way I wanted to join the military.” He smiled, glancing at Bucky. “I wanted to join the way he did. I wanted to enlist with him, and go into the 107th infantry together. We were—and are—best friends. Everything Bucky did, I wanted to be right there with him.

“I didn’t get accepted to enlist the way I wanted to. But I found my way into the war anyway. I found my way back to Bucky too.” Steve flashed a sidelong smile. “As the Howling Commandoes, we did all of the missions that other teams couldn’t. We fought hard, and any of those men would have gladly given their lives to get us out of that war. War is hell. I thought we might have learned that after World War II, but I guess we didn’t.”

Reporters were writing furiously on notepads, tablets, and phones. Most were just holding up recording devices, their brows all furrowed in concentration. Steve found himself staring at them, and all of a sudden he couldn’t find the will to speak. His train of thought vanished into thin air and he paled. His words had abandoned him.

Steve opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Panic began to creep into his heart—he could not fumble here.

“We didn’t learn shit,” Bucky said, his eyes on the reporters and not on Steve. Under the table, Bucky’s flesh hand grazed his knee before it returned to the tabletop. “The papers have all been talkin’ about it, and they’re right about some things: I am Sergeant Bucky Barnes, the one who died. Thing is, I didn’t die. When Steve found me in Austria, I was a prisoner of war. I got more shit pumped into my blood than he did. And I lost my arm.”

Bucky lifted his chin a bit, as though daring someone to say something about it. His arm was half covered by his rolled up jacket sleeve, but it was still clear that it was made of metal and not flesh.

“Long story short, Steve brought me back form a bad place. You ever had a nightmare? Sure you have. But when you wake up, it ends. Not mine. Not his.” Bucky jabbed a thumb at Steve. “We wake up, we’re still dyin’. Still getting’ shot n’ tortured and whatever the hell else. I wake up and when I turn over there’s a hunk a metal where my arm’s supposed to be.

“I can’t sleep the same. I can’t walk down the street without some punk askin’ me what the hell happened. It’s bad enough havin’ metal where your arm should be, but tellin’ the story about how I got it? Not somethin’ I wanna share. And I ain’t the only one. There’s vets all over this country that got it way worse than I do. They need the help more than I do, but nobody’s askin’ them for a spot on the TV. That ain’t fair—not when they’ve done more than us.”

Steve blinked, watching the reporters as they stared. Not one of them looked like they felt a lick of guilt.  This was all just some story. It made Steve a little sick.

“It’s bad enough when you’ve got a missin’ limb,” Bucky continued, his gaze sweeping powerfully over the faces before him. When he’d developed such strong public speaking skills, Steve didn’t know. It must have come along with his natural charisma. “But then there’s the fellas who get the shit beat outta them for likin’ another fella.”

The reporters stirred, their intensity swelling again.

Steve lifted his hand without any hesitation, and laced his fingers with Bucky’s. His voice returned to him as the cameras started flashing.

“Bucky and I are pleased to announce that we’re going to be holding a Wounded Warriors gala right here in New York. Our American soldiers faced enough hardship on the battlefield, and we feel that it’s our duty as veterans and as soldiers to do our best to make sure they get the help they need.” Steve kept his gaze steady, a new strength running in his blood. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Right now though, it was leaning more on the terrifying side. He wasn’t sure if holding hands with Bucky had been a good decision or not, or if he had just put them both in danger.

Tony stepped back to the lectern with a proud smirk. “Press details are coming out shortly. You can ask your questions then at any of the press conferences we’ve so generously placed throughout the country, but not today.”

“Mr. Rogers! Are you and Bucky in a homosexual relationship?” a reporter shouted.

“Hey! What did I just tell you?” Tony snapped. “No questions until the press—“

“We’re in a romantic relationship, fuckwad,” Bucky shouted over the noise. 

“Bucky,” Steve warned as they stood.

“You gotta problem with that, come find me,” Buck finished.

The room exploded with questions and cameras and flashes and yelling, but Steve noticed a group of people in the back cheering loudest of all, sporting rainbow face paint and throwing up hand-painted signs of support.

More and more people joined them until only a handful of smug reporters and cameramen were scowling instead of clapping.

“Is that for us?” Bucky asked, looking at him.

Steve smiled uneasily. “Yeah…yeah. I think so.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Nobody was throwing a fit, no one was attacking them for being together. Everyone was…supporting them. Steve hadn’t expected that at all. It didn’t ease his nervousness completely, because he knew not everyone was supportive. They weren’t completely safe. Bucky wasn’t completely safe.

“Steve!”

Steve barely had time to react before there was an arm around his neck, yanking him down directly into somebody’s chest.  He laughed, because just by the sound of that voice, he knew it was Sam.

“You’ve been keepin’ secrets, Rogers!” Sam dug his knuckles into Steve’s hair playfully, then let him go.

“Not my fault you can’t spare a trip to the Big Apple,” Steve countered with a cocked brow.

Sam shot him a look. “I would have come over here if you just would have called me up, you know, and told me you had a boyfriend.”

“Sam.” Bucky extended a hand. “Bucky.”

“I know, dude. You wrecked my car.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that.“ He rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand, his metal one finding its way to Steve’s again and linking with it.

“No problem, man. You had a lot on your plate,” Sam said with a wide grin. “At least, I’m gonna assume you had a lot on your plate.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Bucky chuckled.

“Good job, Steve—and Bucky.” Steve turned to see Pepper smiling at the both of them. “It’s a difficult thing to go up there and address the press like that. You both did great.”

“Bucky stole the show, really,” Steve said, giving Bucky a sideways smile.

Bucky lifted his brows. “Just covered for your ass when you blanked.”

Steve elbowed him in the ribs, prompting a bout of laughter all around.

“You really think it went well?” Steve asked Pepper, his brow creasing with concern.

Pepper gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ve been around the press for a long time. You did a great job. Certainly better than Tony would have done in this kind of situation.” She stood up a little straighter, peering over Steve’s shoulder. “But, you should probably move down this line of important people and say hello. The newspapers really like pictures of handshakes.”

“But first—because you stiffed me and didn’t tell me about your boyfriend, you have to go out for drinks with me,” Sam said, giving Steve an expectant look. “And your boyfriend has to come too.”

Steve looked to Bucky, who shrugged.

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m so, _so_ fuckin’ glad I can still get drunk,” Bucky slurred as Steve helped him out of his jacket.

“You rang up one hell of a tab getting drunk,” Steve muttered, but he was smiling.

Sam was great at bringing life anywhere. After an hour at a bar, Sam had everyone dancing and partying so hard that the bartender gave him drinks for free at request of the owner. Steve had downed a few glasses of gin and tonic, but paying a ridiculous price for alcohol that wouldn’t work didn’t seem like a smart idea.

Bucky though, drank everything on the shelf; wine to whiskey and back again. As he’d started to prove at the party with Tony when he’d admitted their relationship (okay, Steve had pretty much been the one to admit it), he could get drunk if he really tried.

Hours later and Sam was long gone and Bucky was pretty drunk too. Steve corralled them both and got them all into a cab to the tune of The Star Spangled Banner (the only song Sam and Bucky both knew). Sam cracked stupid jokes and Steve laughed harder than he had in a very long time. Being sober had its perks—Steve really did enjoy the fact that he would actually remember all of this. Bucky was happy and he’d gotten the chance to catch up with Sam before he got too drunk.

“So we’re really goin’ on a big tour?” Bucky asked as he flopped his arms out of his jacket sleeves.

“I think so, yeah,” Steve said, folding up Bucky’s jacket and placing it on his dresser.

“Me n’ you sleepin’ in hotels together,” Bucky hummed, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Steve’s back from behind.

“That’s right,” Steve said with a chuckle.

“’M scared,” Bucky murmured, his voice going quiet.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve turned around to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Scared of what?”

“I dunno.” Bucky shrugged. “Somethin’s jus’ tellin’ me I should be scared.”

“Well you don’t have to be scared of anything,” Steve soothed, pressing his lips to Bucky’s forehead.

“My mouth’s down here, dumbass.”

He laughed at Bucky’s drunken slur and kissed him firmly on the lips. “There?”

“Mmhm.” Bucky grinned against his mouth. “Lookatchu. Kissin’ me.”

“Yup. You taste like whiskey,” Steve said with a stupid grin. Ever since their first kiss (okay, maybe it was after), it really didn’t seem like such a big deal. In fact, kissing often seemed like the best way to get his feelings across, even though they didn’t kiss that often. “Let’s get in bed though. I’m tired.”

Bucky apparently thought that was funny, so he laughed.

“Shut the fuck up in there! There’s milk in my cookies for a reason!” Sam shouted from his spot on the couch in the living room.

Steve didn’t pretend to know what that meant as he kicked off his shoes and changed into his sleeping clothes. Tank top and sweats, just like always.

Bucky crawled into bed behind him and fell face first into the pillows.

“You can’t sleep in the middle of the bed, Buck,” Steve laughed. “I have to fit somewhere on there t—“

“What’re you gonna do when I wake up with a hard on?” Bucky asked, flipping over onto his back.

Steve was so taken aback by the question that he forgot to breathe for a few moments as his cheeks went scarlet.

“I mean, ‘s gonna happen. Well, ‘s gonna happen one day n’ you’re gonna feel it.”

“Um. I—I guess—I dunno,” Steve blubbered, fighting to create some sort of thought.

It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. Sleeping in the same bed all winter had its moments of awkwardness in the mornings, though with them it was never really awkward. Uncomfortable, sure, but it wasn’t like they could help it.  Being the best friends that they were, things like that weren’t something to fuss about. There were a few nights where Steve had to throw a shoe at Bucky’s head when he woke up in the middle of the night to him jerking off. Waking up with an erection, jerking off—they were boy things. They couldn’t just ignore them or pretend they didn’t happen, so they had just gone with it. It didn’t matter.

Now, things were different.

“You dunno? Hm.” Bucky closed his eyes.

“I’ll just go back to sleep, or wake up and go for my run, just like every morning,” Steve finally said, walking over to bed. He hoped Bucky wouldn’t remember this conversation.

“So you’re not gonna help me out?” One of Bucky’s brows lifted, cocking a brow.

“No, probably not.” Steve slipped under the covers and yawned. “Night, Buck.”

“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t wantcha to help me out,” Bucky mused. “Seems kinda fucked up, huh?”

Steve turned his head to look at him, trying to gauge what Bucky meant.

“What?” Bucky burst out laughing. “Aw, Stevie. Just ‘cause I fucked a lotta girls and kissed ya first doesn’t mean this ain’t fuckin’ weird.”

“What’s weird about it?” he asked, though he already knew. Things were going great right now, but Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to completely shake the whispers that said this was wrong.

“Lovin’ you. People—” Bucky let out a hiccup. “People callin’ you my boyfriend n’ shit. ‘S fucked up a lil’ bit. I mean—I mean like ‘s just funny. I dunno.”

Steve smiled, reaching over to push back the hair in front of Bucky’s eyes. “You’re drunk, Buck. We’ve got a busy week ahead of us. Time to sleep.”

Bucky was quiet for about five seconds.

“You ever wonder if we’ll get so old we forget all this stuff?”

“All what stuff?” Steve asked with a sigh.

“Everything that’s happenin’ now. The stuff before the war n’ all that.”

Steve snuggled against his pillow a little more. “No, Buck, I don’t think we’ll forget.”

“Mkay, good. Night, Stevie.”

“Goodnight, Buck. No more talking.”

Steve reached out and yanked the chain for the lamp, plunging them both into darkness.

The air smelled faintly of alcohol from Bucky’s breath, but Steve didn’t mind that. It was kind of nostalgic, in its own way. He pressed his back a little more against Bucky’s side so that when the other man inevitably fell asleep, he would know Steve was still there.

After a moment, Steve abandoned that plan and rolled around to face his drunk boyfriend. He snuggled against Bucky’s shoulder and looped an arm over his chest. Bucky let out a hum, and folded his flesh hand over Steve’s.

Regardless of what they ended up forgetting when they got older, Steve would always love Bucky and Bucky would always love him. They wouldn’t forget the moment they both discovered it—their first kiss, their first time saying they loved each other. These were the moments they would always remember and cherish. No amount of time would be able to take that away.

“I forgot to say I love you,” Steve murmured.

Bucky let out a drunken chuckle. “Save it, ya sap. ‘M goin’ to sleep.”

But he did lean over and give Steve a sloppy kiss on the nose. Steve screwed up his face, but laughed after a beat and nuzzled against Bucky’s collar.

Within minutes, they were both asleep.


	29. Chapter 29

A week into their press tour, and Steve regretted ever deciding to do it.

First, there were the press conferences themselves. All of them were live, which meant that both he and Bucky had to be painted in makeup to look good for the cameras, and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, everyone also tried to ask the most horrible questions they could think of. Steve was introduced to everything he didn’t need to know about gay sex between Tony’s sarcastic saves when neither Steve nor Bucky knew what was being asked and the ludicrous things posted about them on the internet.

It had mostly started due to something called a meme—something Steve had never heard of and still didn’t quite understand. But someone had evidently caught a funny reaction photo of him being asked something sexual about his relationship with Bucky, and it had gone viral.

That prompted reporters to ask even worse questions to try and make a sequel. Bucky was not pleased, but there was nothing they could do. The media specialists said that the meme was a positive addition to the campaign, so they wouldn’t try to stop it.

And none of the embarrassing questions were asked on-air anyway, so they were spared public humiliation, at least.

It was torture, but it was nothing compared to post-press conferences.

Sleeping in hotels, as nice as they were, was horrible. Twice they had been forced to move hotels due to safety concerns. Not because of homophobes (that was a word now part of Steve’s daily vocabulary), but because fans were rabidly trying to get pictures of them sharing a bed or asking for autographs.

It was stressing Bucky out in a way Steve didn’t like. Bucky hardly slept for fear that someone was going to barge in their hotel room, even though they had several SHIELD agents locking down the whole floor.

Thankfully, they had a scheduled break in New York before the major part of their tour that would take place in San Francisco. From what Tony had said about the city, Steve was leery. The campaign was losing its focus on soldiers and becoming about him and Bucky. Steve wasn’t happy with that.

“Can you describe the kind of dates you’ve been on?” a young female reporter asked. She was part of a gossip magazine—many others like her had started jamming themselves into the crowd.

Steve smiled, though he was faking it. “We haven’t been on very many formal dates, I’m afraid. We don’t—“

“You sound regretful, Mr. Rogers. Do you think your relationship has been lacking in that respect?”

He sighed. “Our relationship isn’t lacking. What I was going to say was that we don’t need to go on fancy dinner dates. We’ve known each other our whole lives, there isn’t much we really have to learn about each other that we don’t already know.”

“Can you describe your first date?” another reporter called above the rest.

Tony nodded stiffly at him, which meant he had to answer.

“I’ll let Bucky answer that one,” he said, looking over to Bucky.

Bucky was staring at nothing, his eyes distant. He looked bored as hell.

“Bucky,” Steve chuckled, gently knocking his flesh arm.

“Wha?” Bucky snapped back to the present, looking around.

“They want to know about our first date,” Steve said with a smirk. “I told ‘em you’d answer.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “Our first date, huh? Lemme think…”

“You don’t remember your first date?” the reporter asked, sounding appalled.

Bucky cursed under his breath. “Yeah, lady, I remember my first date with Steve, thanks. To me, we went out on about five first dates, so I dunno which one Steve’s referin’ to, is all.”

Steve laughed. “Go ahead, Buck. I’m interested to see if we match up.”

The reporters laughed, and Bucky shot him an uneasy grin. He squeezed his hand just to let Bucky know that he didn’t really care what Bucky thought their first date was. They were together, that was all that mattered.

“So, after I convince Steve to go out with me, I call Tony Stark and ask him if he knows a good place to eat.” It was Bucky’s turn to smirk. “He tells me there’s a fancy seafood joint just down the way…”

 

 

When they finally left the conference room, Steve let out a long breath. His whole body was worn down and exhausted from all of the questions. There was always a tension within him while he was in the room roo. He just hated that he and Bucky had become a commodity, an international news story that was plastered on every paper, magazine, and news channel. He wanted it to be like it had been by the lake—just the two of them.

“Tired, huh?” Bucky murmured, moving to sit down beside him on a padded bench in the hall. They had to wait for Tony’s plane to fuel up before they could go to the airport and go home. Chicago had been great and all, but Steve was done exploring.

“Exhausted,” Steve muttered.

“I hear that,” Bucky said with a sigh.

Steve leaned against him, dropping his cheek to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. They had been moving around for only a week, but it felt like they had been spending years on this press tour.

“I don’t think this is what I thought it was gonna be,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve opened his eyes, turning his head a little to see Bucky’s face. “What isn’t?”

“This thing with the reporters,” he said, looking down at his hands.

Steve sat up with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

One thing Bucky could never hide was when he was upset. It was all over his face; from the crease in his brow to the slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyelids drooped a little and he blinked slower too, as if the whole world had slowed down for him.

“This thing ain’t a prosthetic,” Bucky said, flexing his metal arm between them. “It’s a weapon. It ain’t somethin’ that makes me one a those Wounded Warriors.”

“Hey,” Steve murmured, tipping his head up to press a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Yeah it does. I bet plenty of guys use their prosthetics as weapons too. You aren’t that special.”

Bucky snorted, a smile breaking on his lips. It didn’t stay for long though. “Still doesn’t make me worthy of those soldiers got. They went through a lot more shit than I did.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “That is not true.” He reached up, tucking a swath of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “No other soldier in the history of the world has ever gone through what you did. If anyone is deserving of being a Wounded Warrior, it’s you. You sacrificed your life for this country. You did.”

Bucky’s eyes were clouded with sorrow when he looked at him. “I’ve killed more than I’ve sacrificed for this country, Steve.”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “HYDRA changed you. That wasn’t your doing. Killing all of those people was not Bucky Barnes, it was the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared.

“And I know you and the Winter Soldier are the same now. But you can’t tell me you were then. Bucky Barnes didn’t kill—“

“I killed,” Bucky cut. “I killed people when I didn’t have to. I killed to keep you safe, but I also killed just in case. Just ‘cause. HYDRA didn’t put somethin’ in me that wasn’t already there.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “The war changed both of us. But that’s bullshit. As soon as we were together, HYDRA had already experimented on you. They already—“

“You don’t know what I did before you found me,” Bucky snapped.

Steve blinked hard, setting his mouth into a hard line. “You’re right. But I know you did whatever you did to survive.”

“That doesn’t justify nothin’!”

“War can’t be justified, Bucky!” he snapped.

Steve swallowed thickly, looking down at his hands. “People were slaughtered—soldiers were slaughtered, all just to get to a few men that were actually in the wrong. You can’t look at war as somethin’ moral, because it isn’t. It can’t be.”

Bucky looked away.

“You start thinkin’ about it, and you’ll hate yourself. I killed plenty of Germans, I killed plenty of HYDRA—I killed plenty of people, Buck. I killed them because I had to, because I was told to. We all saw them as bad people, but they saw us as the same thing. The only person I think deserved it was Red Skull, and I didn’t even kill him. The rest of those people were just doing the same thing as me. As us.”

Bucky shook his head. “Well I ain’t a Wounded Warrior.”

Steve sighed. “You are, Bucky. You lost your arm and you and I are still dealing with the trauma of everything else. What the Winter Soldier did doesn’t matter. Not to me and not to them.”

“I didn’t lose my whole arm,” Bucky murmured.

“What?” Steve looked at Bucky’s shoulder. Surely there wasn’t an arm under that metal.

“When I fell, I wrecked to here.” He tapped the side of his finger at about halfway up his forearm. “They found me like that, pulled me in. Then they were sayin’ shit in German and I couldn’t get most of it, but what I heard was that ‘the weapon’ wouldn’t be as effective if it was just a hand. So they sawed the whole fuckin’ thing off.”

“Bucky—“

Bucky shot him a glare. “Don’t you dare make up some shit about other soldiers. None a them had their limbs sawed off to make a weapon more effective. None of ‘em.” His metal hand curled into a fist. “This thing ain’t allowed to peg me a Wounded Warrior like one of them.”

“Stop,” Steve pleaded. “Your arm is part of you. You can’t change that. So make into something good. You can wash away some of what it’s done, and some is better than nothing.”

Bucky kissed him suddenly, and Steve let out a little yelp into Bucky’s mouth at the ferocity of it. He didn’t know where this was coming from, but if Bucky needed it, Steve would gladly oblige.

“You can’t see the bad in anything, can ya?” Bucky breathed as he pulled away.

“Sure I can,” Steve said. “I just refuse to believe there’s any bad in you.”

“That’s a dangerous way to think, Rogers,” Bucky warned.

Steve shrugged. “It’s been going pretty well so far, give or take a few bullets and stab wounds.”

Bucky laughed and captured his lips in another heady kiss. Steve’s hands came up automatically now, one tangling in Bucky’s hair at the nape of his neck, the other sliding up his sternum.

They actually were safe here. SHIELD agents were posted at all of the doors into this hallway, and there were no windows. No one could sneak pictures of them and paste them all over the newspaper. And no one came in and out without knocking first, because every time a door opened, photographers were trying to get shots.

Making out was something Steve had decided he wasn’t good at. The concept was incredibly strange to him. It looked like fun in movies and things, until he actually thought about it. He didn’t see anything good about someone’s tongue in his mouth—and where the hell did his teeth go? It seemed like he and Bucky would just be clacking their teeth together all the time.

As the kissed, something warm laved across Steve’s bottom lip. He gave a little grunt and pulled away a bit.

“Was that your tongue?”

“Yup” was Bucky’s only response before his mouth was on Steve’s again.

“Why?” Steve managed around the kiss.

Bucky let a breath out through his nose. “Just shuddup unless ‘m doin’ somethin’ wrong.”

Suddenly Steve was on his back on the bench, Bucky’s hands on his chest. Whoa. He swallowed, blinking up at Bucky with an expression of shock. Sure, they’d kissed like this before—almost every night in the hotel rooms they spend a couple of minutes getting reacquainted with each other. It never involved Steve getting shoved.

But he trusted Bucky now. Even though he wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing or why, he just had a feeling that Bucky needed this. Sometimes Steve still felt like he was being a giant prude and that Bucky was getting annoyed.

Bucky did not kiss his lips like Steve was expecting. Instead he slid down over him and feathered his lips just beneath the corner of Steve’s jaw. It tickled, but it also sent a shot of heat between his legs that Steve hadn’t been planning on.

“Bucky—“

“I said shuddup,” Bucky murmured, sending a wash of hot breath all over his neck in a way that did not help things. “Just relax, Stevie. I ain’t gonna do anything dumb.”

Relax. Steve didn’t see how he was supposed to relax when all he could feel was the warmth of Bucky’s lips on his skin and the scratch of his stubble. It felt so good, but he was afraid to do something stupid. Steve had a habit of ruining moments like these, moments where Bucky was so obviously in control of the situation and knew what was happening.

Bucky moved to his throat, expertly mapping his lips across places that made Steve’s breath come out short. His fingers tangled into Bucky’s hair instinctively, pulling him closer.

His eyes snapped open when Bucky’s teeth gently raked over his jawbone.

Steve was quickly coming to understand why dames had always been coming by their apartment, even when they knew Bucky had no interest in pursuing anything more than a night with them.

Steve’s hands slipped from Bucky’s hair and spread on his chest, pushing him up and his lips away from Steve’s neck.

Bucky blinked at him, looking a little dazed. “Too much?”

As an answer, Steve tugged Bucky down to him for a kiss that had Bucky groaning in his mouth.

“I dunno what I’m doing,” Steve said breathily once their lips parted, “But I want you to show me how to do it right.”

A sly grin appeared on Bucky’s face. “Yes, sir.”

They kissed again, but this time was a little different. There was more…heat. That was the only way Steve could think to describe the sensation of Bucky’s open mouth against his. It was wonderful and had warmth welling up in him that was infinitely better at relieving his stress than any massage ever could.

Bucky pulled back a little with a look on his face that said ‘your turn.’

Steve lifted his head up, opening his mouth a little awkwardly before pressing against Bucky’s lips in a kiss. It wasn’t great, but Bucky pushed back against him anyway, adjusting his lips so that it _was_ perfect.

This time when Bucky’s tongue swiped over his bottom lip, Steve might have made an obscene noise.

He realized this probably looked pretty awkward—Steve was flopped back on a cushioned bench with Bucky essentially straddling him, though Steve had one knee up and the other down so that he wouldn’t fall off the bench.

But it felt pretty damn amazing.

Bucky pulled away a little, smiling at him with swollen lips. Steve’s throat went dry at the sight of them.

“Kay. You gotta be careful for this next part,” Bucky murmured, lifting his brows like he was going to be teaching a little Stevie Rogers how to add. “It ain’t about shovin’ around. Just follow me, got it?”

“Follow—“

His question was cut off by Bucky’s mouth. Steve sighed into the kiss (and immediately was embarrassed because of that) and closed his eyes.

Then he realized what Bucky was talking about when Bucky’s tongue slipped past his lips.

Quite honestly, Steve had expected such a thing to feel slimy and absolutely disgusting, but it wasn’t. It was fantastic. Maybe it was because his lips were already swollen or because he had Bucky’s taste all over in his mouth, but Bucky’s tongue was a welcome addition to the equation.

With a low hum, Steve held Bucky closer, allowing him to gather all of the taste he was searching for. Tentatively, he allowed himself to do the same, but much less forcefully and with much less expertise.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Fuck!” Bucky sat up abruptly, ripping all of the warmth and heat right out of Steve’s mouth. Literally. “One minute, hold on.”

It took a few seconds, but then Steve remembered that it was still potentially dangerous for them to be in such a compromising position. Bucky hopped off of him and Steve jumped to his feet.

“Hold on there, Stevie,” Bucky said, stopping him from going to the door. He ruffled Steve’s hair back into place and pressed his metal thumb on Steve’s lip. When Steve cocked a brow, Bucky shrugged. “Cold makes ‘em look less red.”

Steve chuckled, smiling until Bucky removed his thumb. Then he leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to Bucky’s ruby lips. “Well, let ‘em be a little red.”

Their visitor knocked again.

Steve stepped back. “Come on in.”

Clint stepped in with a cocked brow, scanning the two of them. “Hey there, guys.”

“Clint? The hell are you doing here?” Bucky asked, crossing his arms.

“I’ll tell you in a second. What were you two doing?”

Steve blushed and cleared his throat. “Uh, debriefing.”

Bucky facepalmed.

“Oooh, how fun,” Clint teased. “Anyway, I’m here because I’ve got a mission for you. Well, for Bucky.”

Steve subconsciously angled himself to be in front of his boyfriend. “A mission for Bucky? Who assigned it?”

Clint gave him a look. “I did. It’s not really a mission. It’s more of a training challenge. Night ops, Chicago skyline. Coulson actually approved it.”

“And when will you get back to New York?”

“Just a few hours after you,” Clint said. “I just figured I’d train with the Ghost and let you blow of some steam. Press stuff sucks.”

Bucky blinked.

Steve smiled. “Go ahead, Buck. Sounds like fun. And I’m sure Clint will keep you sharp.”

“Uh,” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I’ll pass this time.”

Clint frowned. “Come on. This is like once in a lifetime here. Coulson never lets me explore stuff. I promise it’ll be fun.”

Bucky didn’t even look like he considered it. “Sorry, pal. I kinda just want to go to bed.”

Clint looked like he was at a loss. “Uh, okay. I’ll see you back at the Tower then?” He backed up, a brow still raised as though Bucky might reconsider.

“Yup, see ya,” Bucky smiled, giving a little wave. “Let me know when you get back.”

Clint nodded once and then vanished out the door.

Steve cocked a brow. “What was that all about?”

Bucky shrugged. “I wanna go home. Runnin’ around on skyscrapers ain’t that.” He turned, giving Steve a chaste kiss. “Why? Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” Steve chuckled. “Let’s see if the plane’s ready. I have a feeling we’re gonna need all the rest we can get before San Francisco.”

“We can rest as much as you want, Captain,” Bucky said with a smirk as they headed for the door. “And while we’re at it, let’s see if we can get some more practice in with that tongue a yours, huh?”

Steve was bright pink for every picture taken between the conference building and the airport.


	30. Chapter 30

The longer he was out of the ice, the more Steve realized that he didn’t know much of anything about this new century. He thought he knew things, and then it seemed that God liked to throw it all back in his face that he didn’t actually know anything at all.

Like airports. Steve had spent years of his life around all kinds of planes and bustling hangars, but evidently he’d never been to an airport. Not a 21st century airport anyway. Due to his position as an Avenger, SHIELD or Tony flew him everywhere he needed to go.

But Tony’s media gurus had decided that Steve and Bucky needed to be more relatable. Flying in private jets and government planes didn’t exactly resonate with the American people. So, against Bruce’s recommendations that Bucky be kept in areas of few people and low stress, Steve and Bucky were dropped off at LaGuardia with their luggage, two plane tickets, and a crudely drawn map of where they needed to go, courtesy of Bruce.

“How the hell are we supposed to get through all this shit?” Bucky hissed, shifting a little closer to Steve.

“We can navigate a war, I think we’ll be able to navigate this,” Steve said confidently, though he wasn’t sure he believed himself. Everywhere there were people in lines, people walking by with luggage, and crowds huddled against walls at every outlet, charging their phones. The signs overhead might as well have been written in gibberish, because Steve had no idea where he was supposed to be going or how he was supposed to get from Point A to Point B.

“I think we gotta go there first,” Bucky said, pointing to a line of people under a sign that read CHECK IN.

“Looks like a good place to start,” Steve said with a nod.

They hauled their luggage over to the check in line and Bucky adjusted his jacket sleeve, curling his metal hand to a fist to keep it better hidden. Coulson had given them both special cards to present to TSA officers (not that Steve knew what those were aside from what he’d heard in the papers) to avoid metal detectors, but Steve still worried that someone would recognize them. Though they had been told this was part of their publicity, no one had said they couldn’t try to hide themselves.

“You’ve got a piece of hair sticking out of your hat,” Steve said, lifting his hand to try and push the little swath somewhere that wouldn’t be in Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky shook his head like a wet dog. “Don’t bother with it.”

“It looks bad, just let me fix it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, swatting Steve’s hand away. “Get off me, Rogers.”

“Just let me fix it,” Steve protested, reaching for Bucky’s hair again. “When the cameras find you, you gotta look—”

“Hey, can ya knock off the lover’s quarrel up there?” an angry man snapped from behind Steve. “Wait till you get to the honeymoon, yeah?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Bucky,” Steve warned. “Cool it.”

“”No way. This fucker thinks he can just go around—“

Steve put a hand on Bucky’s chest, preventing him from charging forward. “We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves, remember? Starting a fight is drawing attention.”

Bucky glared at him, clearly not pleased. “Steve Rogers is tellin’ me to back down from a fight. What a world.”

“Next!” The lady at the counter called and Bucky went up first, presenting his ticket and handing over his luggage when prompted. He still didn’t look too happy, but he still managed to get the lady at the counter to smile.

“I think you might be too charming,” Steve laughed once he’d checked in too.

Bucky shrugged. “A fault I’m proud of,” he said with a smirk.

Steve rolled his eyes and readjusted his backpack on his shoulder. It didn’t have much in it, just a sketchbook, drawing pencils, a laptop, and a tablet. He always packed light, mostly because he didn’t like to think that material things were something he needed in everyday life.  His shield was about the only thing he was missing now, and Tony had assured him it would be waiting in his hotel room when he arrived.

“Okay, now we just have to find our gate,” Steve mumbled, looking down at his boarding pass. Their flight didn’t leave for another hour, so they had plenty of time to find where they needed to go.

“Not yet,” Bucky said, nodding over to another line of people who were standing and waiting to be patted down. The officers doing the pat down looked like the TSA agents they’d been told about. At least, Steve assumed they were TSA agents.

“We just show them our cards, right?” Steve asked, unsure.

Bucky shrugged. “I know less than you, pal. We can try it.”

But when they reached the first TSA agent, she just stared at the card like they had presented a piece of trash to her.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” she asked, cocking a brow. She didn’t look happy.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m Captain Steve Rogers, ma’am. This is Bucky Barnes. We were told by Phil Coulson of SHIELD that we would be able to get to our plane without being checked over.”

The woman snorted. “That’s one of the best excuses I’ve ever—“

Bucky’s arm came up to rest against his chest, the sleeve falling down to reveal his metal wrist and hand. “Believe us now, lady?”

The lady moved hurriedly to speak into her radio, but Steve reached out to stop her.

“Please. We are who we say we are. If you want to see ID, I have ID.” The last thing Steve wanted was to draw attention to them with a perceived security threat.

“I’m calling my supervisor,” the woman snapped. “Make any sudden movements, and we’re going to have a problem.”

“What the—“

“Bucky!” Steve hissed. “Just calm down, please.”

Bucky scowled, but didn’t say a word as the TSA agent called her supervisor.

Moments later a stout man with wire-frame glasses strode up to them, eyeing them both suspiciously. Bucky moved closer to Steve as best he could without getting snapped at for doing so.

“What’s the problem here?” the man said, moving a hand to the gun on his holster. Steve was pretty sure it wasn’t even loaded.

He explained what they had been told once more, and presented the cards Coulson had given them.

Without even looking at the cards, the man nodded once. “See them through. With an escort.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said with a nod.

With yet another crises averted, Steve and Bucky headed for their gate once their escort reluctantly let them go in their way. Once again, they were in the middle of a micro metropolis with no idea of where to go.

“You’d think I was pointin’ a gun at ‘em,” Bucky muttered, readjusting his backpack.

“I’ve read plenty about TSA agents and none of it was good,” Steve chuckled. Tony very much enjoyed gloating about the fact that he didn’t have to go through check-ins anymore. Perks of owning a private jet. 

They headed toward a food court, avoiding the strange extended treadmills and weaving past groups of lost travellers. It was still New York City, even in the airport. From what Steve had heard, California wouldn’t be much different.  If anything, the airport would be worse.

It wasn’t so much the crowds that bothered him as it was the dull atmosphere. The drone of a hundred conversations going on at once, most of them one-sided with people on the phone. Everyone wore bland business attire with dull looks on their faces. The food only ever smelled like grease, pizza, or French fries and after awhile those didn’t smell so great anymore.

He was being an old man, but Steve did think that there was something more vibrant about the thirties and forties. Now the only brightness came from colorful commercials or digital billboards. It wasn’t the same.

“Holy shit!”

Steve was snapped from his nostalgic reverie by Bucky’s swearing, and he immediately looked for some kind of threat. “What? What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, Bucky rushed over to…a vending machine? Steve followed close behind, glancing around just in case Bucky was planning on using it as cover.

“Two bucks for a Coke?” Bucky asked, shocked. He pressed his face to the glass to look closer. “It ain’t even in a glass bottle!”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, airport prices are kind of expensive.”

“But two bucks? That’s ridiculous!”

“I mean—“

“Who the hell even has the money for that?” Bucky asked, gently slapping his palm to the glass in disgust.

“Minimum wage is almost eight dollars an hour, Buck,” Steve reminded him, unable to keep the smile off of his face. He hadn’t seen Bucky passionate about something silly in some time.

Bucky paused. “Oh. Right. Forgot about that.”

Steve laughed. “You know you aren’t the Winter Soldier, right? You don’t work for HYDRA anymore?”

Bucky gave him a shove, but he was smiling. “Shuddup. It ain’t that bad.”

“Let’s get some breakfast. I’ll pay, seeing as it’s probably too steep for you,” Steve teased.

“You’re a real punk, ya know that?” Bucky rolled his eyes and they headed into the food court.

The breakfast selection was meager: coffee, iced coffee, cereal and milk, and bagels. Many of the restaurants were selling greasy breakfasts burgers and fries and cinnamon rolls so soaked in sugar that they looked more like dumplings.

Steve knew Bucky was going to get his Froot Loops, so he decided to settle on a bagel with cream cheese. It wasn’t the best breakfast he’d ever had, but he wasn’t all that hungry anyway.

Once his (noticeably stale) bagel was in his hands and paid for, Steve headed toward where Bucky was sitting, mindlessly chewing on some French toast.

“No Froot Loops today?” Steve asked as he sat down.

Bucky stopped chewing for a second. “Mm. Guess not.”

“How’s the toast?”

Bucky swallowed. “Tastes like frozen bread covered in too much syrup. Ain’t too great.”

“Should’ve played it safe and gotten cereal,” Steve said around a bite of his bagel.

“Guess so.” Bucky combed his fingers back through his hair and let out a sigh. Steve noticed he looked exhausted.

“Hey, you okay, Buck?” he asked, hesitating to reach out. Public affection still wasn’t quite in the cards for either of them, especially in a place this crowded. But he wanted to know what was wrong, and he wanted to help.

“ ‘m fine, Stevie,” Bucky muttered in reply.

“You’re lyin’ to me,” Steve said quietly. “Come on, tell me.”

Bucky passed a hand over his face and groaned. “I’m just tired. Thought a week would make me ready for all this again, but it hasn’t done shit. I just wanna stop with the press conferences.”

“They’ll stop soon. This is the last one, then we just have the gala. And the gala will be fun, promise.”

Bucky shook his head, but smiled. “You’re too optimistic, you know that?”

The Winter Soldier had said something along the same vein once before. And once more, Steve thought stupid would have been the first word to come to mind instead. He shrugged.

“What? You don’t think it’ll be fun?”

Bucky chuckled, rubbing his stubbly chin. He needed a shave. “Dancin’ with you? Wouldn’t miss it for the world. People are gonna pay big money to see you fall on your ass on that ballroom floor.”

Steve rolled his eyes and laughed. “Hey, I won’t be that bad.” But it did warm his cheeks a little bit that Bucky mentioned them dancing together. Maybe he hadn’t meant _togethe_ r together, because Steve wasn’t even sure how that would work. He didn’t even know how to properly dance with a smaller, thinner woman, let alone a man. Who would lead? Steve only knew how to lead, but it was the same with Bucky, he guessed. But Bucky was a better dancer, so maybe he could follow too. But if he didn’t lead, would that make him feel strange? Steve hoped it wouldn’t make him feel like a woman—though there was nothing wrong with that. Okay, there probably was. Bucky didn’t want to be a woman.

Bucky cocked a brow. “You okay there, Rogers?”

“What? Oh, uh yeah.” Steve hurriedly tore off a piece of bagel and started chewing. “Um, but, you said dancing with me. Did you mean…?”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted. “Did I mean dancin’ with ya?”

Steve nodded, his cheeks too full of bagel to answer.

“Yeah, uh, that was the plan. Why? That strike ya funny or somethin’? We don’t have to, I just assumed…”

“Mm!” Steve shook his head, fighting to get his stupid bagel chewed up enough to talk. “Mm. I jus’ meant—I dunno—If you wanned to or—“

“You’re wound up about who’s gonna lead,” Bucky said with a smirk. He laughed. “Jesus, Steve. You lead, I’ll follow.” His smirk widened. “I’ll put my hands on your shoulders and you can put yours on my waist and spin me around all you want. Should I wear a big ol’ dress too? Lipstick?”

“That’s not—“

“Mwah, mwah, mwah,” Bucky teased, puckering his lips. “That’ll be a good one for the cameras.”

Steve cheeks were pink with both frustration and embarrassment as he finally swallowed his bite of bagel. “I just wanted to ask…”

Bucky’s smirk softened and he cocked his head. “I know. But it doesn’t bother me, Stevie, honest. Hell, I’ve been followin’ you since we were kids. Wouldn’t be right for me to lead.”

Steve rolled his eyes, cheeks still burning.

“Hey.”

He looked up, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“You don’t gotta worry about that stuff, Steve. I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you that you ain’t comfortable with. Not when it comes to dancin’, press conferences, or kissin’ ya senseless in a hotel room.”

Steve pursed his lips. Bucky always had to bring up something raunchy. But he did appreciate what he was saying. “I know that. And I know it’s taken me awhile to be okay with all a this—us—and I’ve got you to thank for that.”

Bucky let out a snort. “Please. It was nothin’.”

“It was. It was—“

“But you could let me kiss ya again once we get to our hotel. You were really gettin’ good with your mouth there, last time.”

Any of Steve’s blush that he had recovered from was back in full force. “Bucky!”

“Bucky!” Bucky parroted. “Stop talkin’ about how much ya like kissin’ me! I’m Steve Rogers and I don’t like my boyfriend tellin’ me he’d like to see me naked!”

Steve’s blush intensified, then was sucked away altogether. Last time they had spoken about sex, about being naked around each other, Bucky had said himself that even he wasn’t quite ready for that.  It was just too ingrained in the both of them that two men—No. He looked down at his bagel.

He felt violated. As if Bucky mentioning him being naked had stripped him down and made him into something for Bucky to stare at. It made Steve’s skin crawl and a bile come to boil in his gut. All of a sudden he was cold all over in a way that no warm blanket could combat. Exposed—that was what this felt like.

“Steve?” Bucky’s eyes were clouded with concern.

“Don’t talk about that again,” Steve said quietly, fighting to keep the bile from rising to his throat.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What, about me wantin’ to see you naked? Sorry pal, but from what I’ve already seen, you’re pretty easy on the—“

“Shut up, Bucky!” Steve snapped, every vertebrae in his spine tingling with discomfort. “I said don’t talk about it!”

Bucky immediately looked wracked with guilt. “Oh God. Steve—I’m sorry. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

“Well you already said it, so sorry isn’t going to help.” Steve cut. It was cruel, but he really just didn’t know how to react when the man he loved made him feel so horrible. He shouldn’t feel horrible, but he did and that was that.

“I…” Bucky trailed off, looking down at his plate of soggy French toast.

“When we get to San Francisco, you need to shave,” Steve said as he stood up.  His bagel just wasn’t going to get eaten. “People are going to start thinking you live on the street.”

He walked off toward the trashcan with a huff.  Bucky lifted his hand, rubbing at his chin like he’d never felt his own stubble before, shocked by Steve’s abrupt change in mood.

“Come on,” Steve said impatiently when he returned. “I wanna get on this plane so I can sleep.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for homophobic slurs.

“If I see another rainbow, I think I’m gonna puke.” Bucky brushed confetti from his shoulders as they walked down one of the sloping streets of San Francisco, the moonlight glowing faintly on the black leather of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier jacket. “I’m tellin’ ya, Steve, that was too much gay for anyone to handle.”

Their arrival at the airport had not been the subliminal one they had planned. Crowds had gathered to await them, and Tony’s media people snatched them once they’d gotten their luggage and showed them toward the crowd. And Tony hadn’t been kidding about how crazy California could be.

The result of the fanfare was an impromptu festival of sorts (Bucky referred to it as a parade) that took them right to the coast down a road called Bay Street. Steve certainly hadn’t been expecting to spend all day with a bunch of people, but he’d long since learned not to expect things to go smoothly when travelling. And it was kind of fun, really. Everyone was having such a good time.

“You never let me see what that guy painted on your arm,” Steve said, trying to look at Bucky’s left side where his metal arm was exposed.

Bucky shrugged away with a smirk. “It’s nothin’. Just more rainbows.”

“Then lemme see!”

“Ah-ah! No way.”

Steve slipped in front of Bucky, cocking his head in a challenge. “I wanna see it. I’m not afraid to pin you, James Barnes.”

Bucky pretended to shiver, his eyes glinting with mirth. “Ooh. Now I’m real scared.”

“He was really smitten with you. Did he write his number on there?” Steve tried to lean over and peek, but Bucky angled himself away.

The guy had reminded both of them of Steve before the serum: a blonde wisp of a kid who looked like he could die from breathing too hard, clutching tight to an art box filled to the brim with messy brushes and paints.  He’d even had the same half smile when he’d asked if he could paint on Bucky’s arm.

“Maybe he did,” Bucky taunted, eyebrows wiggling. “And I just can’t resist blondes.”

“Replacin’ me already, huh?” Steve cocked a brow, pretending to be upset. “That quick?”

“That quick,” Bucky joked in return, tilting his head back just enough that the moonlight heightened the sharp lines of his jaw. “In fact, I was thinkin’ of givin’ my new friend a call right now.”

“Yeah?” Steve moved closer, unable to fight the smile from his lips.

“Yeah.” Bucky paused, cocking his head. “Why? Was there somethin’ you were gonna ask me about? ‘Cause I was gonna push you down the hill and see how long it took ya to get up with that big Frisbee on your back.” He reached forward, tapping the pads of his fingers on the edge of Steve’s shield.

“My only weakness,” Steve said with a lopsided grin. “I knew I shouldn’t ‘ve trusted you.”

“Damn right.” Bucky gave him a lighthearted shove, jostling Steve’s balance enough that his reflexes kicked in to grab Bucky’s arms to keep himself steady.  “Scared ya, huh?”

He realized a second too late that Steve’s grin had turned sly. Steve pulled on Bucky’s metal arm and twisted him around until he was sideways.

There was a rainbow painted there, but in the shape of his shield, with Bucky’s faded red star at the center. The symbol wasn’t new to Steve—many of their supporters held up signs with rainbow shields. But Bucky’s was a little masterpiece right there on his shoulder, the lines a little wobbly from the crowd jostling the painter’s brush, but otherwise it was perfect.

Bucky slung his arm away. “Like I said, it’s nothin’ but more rainbows.”

“I really like it.”

He shrugged, a smile curling at his lips. “I’d like it more if you’d a done it.”

Steve laughed, touched. “Well, you’re just gonna have to settle for my doppelganger.”

Bucky shook his head. “Fuck that. I don’t settle.” He leaned forward, capturing Steve’s lips in a tender kiss.

“Mm. I’m glad to hear that.” Steve gently nosed Bucky’s cheek where his stubble had finally been groomed. He still felt bad about the airport and had apologized for it by the time they’d landed, but Bucky had assured him it was fine.

“Stop thinkin’ about it,” Bucky said firmly, his right hand reaching up to ruffle Steve’s hair affectionately.

“Thinking about what?” Steve asked, playing dumb.

“You know what,” Bucky replied with a look. “I ain’t upset about it. I spooked ya, I know.”

Steve let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at the pavement. “It shouldn’t spook me. “

“Maybe you’re right, but it does. So we just gotta work around it, Stevie, that’s all,” Bucky soothed, pecking Steve’s lips again.

He just didn’t understand how Bucky could be so comfortable with this. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that this was nothing like how it had been before the serum. Bucky had said himself that he wasn’t interested in him before the Winter Soldier—how could he deal with have an attraction to his best friend? How was he able to deal with being in a relationship?

“You’re thinkin’ too much,” Bucky said, gently cuffing him over the head. “Come on.”

Steve reluctantly started walking again, hand-in-hand with Bucky. The sky was cloudy, but with the moonlight and the nighttime sounds, it really was beautiful. His shield was snug on his back, held in place by the leather holster that had been made for him just so he could wear it in civilian life. He didn’t wear it in New York, but when travelling he liked to feel protected. Now that Bucky was in the picture, Steve wanted to make sure he was always safe if HYDRA ever came for him.

“You know they want us to plan out this gala, right?” Bucky asked after a few minutes. “They were tellin’ me that you and I gotta go pick stuff out and decide what kinda food we wanna have.”

Steve groaned. “This press tour is more work than I bargained for.”

“You’re tellin’ me, pal.”

But picking out food and “stuff” wouldn’t be so bad, as long as they weren’t in charge of actually decorating the venue.  Steve was no interior designer and though Bucky had a nice sense of fashion, he couldn’t make a room look inviting if he tried. Their apartments had been nothing short of a disaster back in the day.

“We’ll figure something out, I’m sure,” Steve said, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, well, I’m tryin’ to decide if I it should be real swanky or if we should make it casual. Y’know? Should it be fancy?”

Steve gave a little shrug paired with a slight grin. “I wouldn’t mind a fancy party. A gala sounds pretty swanky to me.” He kicked a pebble with his boot, watching it skitter down the pavement on the hillside.

“Good poin—“

“Hey!”

Steve froze and drew in toward Bucky on instinct, searching for the source of the voice. It came from behind them, but there was no one on the street. The only movement was a few palm trees rustling in the bay breeze and the only movement that of a cat trotting across the street and the tick of a car engine that had been shut off awhile ago.

When another heartbeat went by without a noise, Steve pulled his shield from his back, ready for a fight.

A loud _plunk_ came from his left and it took him a half second to realize it was the sound of something hitting Bucky, who let out a howl of pain. Steve wheeled around to see a man dressed in camo wielding crowbar that he’d used to hit Bucky in the spine.

Anger surged so strongly through Steve that he would have killed that man if he’d had a gun on him. Instead, he rammed the edge of his shield into the man’s wrists, forcing him to drop the crowbar as Steve pulled Bucky toward him. 

The man let out a pained shout, and Steve barely had time to crouch down to Bucky before another man lunged from the darkness between two houses, also dressed in military camo, without any gear.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked in the midst of a hand-to-hand scuffle, worry making his voice taut.

Bucky just breathed heavily in response.

With a swift and powerful punch to his attacker’s nose, Steve sent the man rolling down the hillside before rushing to Bucky’s side again.

“Are you hurt?”

“Hell yeah I’m hurt!” Bucky snapped, clutching at his back. “I just got hit with a fuckin’ crowbar!”

“I’m going to—“

“Steve!” Bucky yanked him to the ground and there was a horrendous clang as Bucky’s metal arm collided with what sounded like a metal pipe.  Steve had the wind knocked out of him, but clutched at Bucky’s chest with fervor.

“Don’t move your spine if—“

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him with a grunt, shoving the pipe away and going for the hulking man that was wielding it.

“Stay close!” Steve called out, jumping up to meet a new group rushing from the shadows.

“You faggot fucks,” one man shouted, the one that Steve had punched in the nose earlier. “Making all of us look like dick sucking fucks like you.”

Steve made sure to listen for Bucky while he combatted four men, all of whom had been extensively trained. They were Marines and a few were just Navy, with only one Army Sergeant that he could see, judging by their fatigues.

A punch landed on Steve’s outstretched arm as he blocked a tackle, caving in his arm at the elbow and allowing the man tackling him to drive the shield right against his chest. The force threw him to the ground, and he moved the shield up just in time to keep a pipe from hitting his face. It did hit the shield though, and the recoil cut his cheek open with the vibranium edge.

Steve pushed upward with all of his strength, just managing to roll his tackler off of him before he was hit in the back of the head with a punch. It jarred him, but wasn’t hard enough to make him see stars.

Another man grabbed him by the shield holster and hauled him off the ground before throwing him back down against the pavement. Steve glanced over to Bucky, who was furiously throwing off his assailants with unbelievably fast punches, his hair flying wildly about his face. No, the Winter Soldier was not completely gone from him. And for once, that was a good thing in Steve’s mind.

He was flipped over and a man who looked to be about thirty or so got right in his face. HASTINGS was written in black marker on his shirt, so Steve assumed that was the man’s last name.

“My old man looked up to you,” Hasting spat. “Hell, my granddad looked up to you. You been around a long time.” Hastings hand grabbed his jaw hard and Steve fought against the two men holding each of his arms to no avail.

“But they didn’t know you were a cocksucking faggot. If they’d have known that, they woulda taught you a lesson and you would’ve learned.”

“Learned what?” Steve growled out, twisting his face to try and get away from Hastings’ hold.

“Only thing a cock needs is pussy,” Hastings snarled back, and the men around him grunted in agreement. “But you’re going around with all your faggot friends and your faggot boyfriend over there and telling everyone different.”

Hastings kneed him in the face, and Steve saw stars that time.

“A big PR stunt. Making us Marines look like a bunch of cock-loving whores. Well, we aren’t faggots like you and in the Marines, we don’t let liars go around lying about us.”

“No we don’t!” another man agreed, and Steve’s stomach lurched as he heard Bucky hiss in pain behind him.

“So we’re gonna show you and your faggot boyfriend what happens when you mess with the US military. Being Captain America won’t save your ass, because Captain America ain’t shit anymore. You’re just as much of a—“

With probably the cleanest, most perfectly executed punch Steve had ever seen, Bucky’s metal fist arced through the air and landed squarely on Hasting’s jaw, sending him flying into the concrete.

Steve used the shock of his captors to his advantage, yanking free of one of them and punching the other in the face as Bucky took out the first.  They quickly took care of three others, but even as all the men were down, Steve and Bucky both knew the fight wasn’t over. They were heavily outnumbered and in a terrible position.

“You’re bleeding,” Bucky panted, gripping Steve’s good cheek to look him over.

“So are you,” Steve managed, eyeing the shining trickle of blood running down Bucky’s metal arm were some of his scarring had been cut. “How’s…your back?”

“Fine,” Bucky said with a nod. “I’m okay. You don’t look okay.”

One of the men was getting to his feet, but Steve ignored him. “You’re worse off. Way worse off. Just—“ He stopped, prepared for the recovered man to tackle him. Instead, the man went for Bucky and evidently Bucky had been thinking the same thing Steve had, because he was easily slammed to the ground, his skull cracking against the asphalt.

“Bucky!” Steve ran forward, landing a kick to the attacker’s rib cage and stomping hard on his head once the man rolled off. He rushed to Bucky, reaching down to gently cup his cheek. “Buck, are you okay?”

“Jesus,” Bucky groaned. It was low, indicating he was in real pain. “Just gimme a minute…”

Steve heard someone running at them and turned. The man with the crowbar was back and he was furious. Steve lifted his shield to defend Bucky, closing his eyes to prepare for impact.

Then he remembered that his shield was on the ground somewhere.

The crowbar easily broke both bones in his forearm with a sickening crack and an explosion of pain so powerful that Steve couldn’t help but scream. He’d never been so unprepared for a hit before.

But Bucky was hurt, and he wasn’t going to let anyone get near him.

So Steve held his now-broken arm to his chest and relied on his super strength to aid him as he punched upward at a bad angle and hit the crowbar man in the throat. A strangled sound escaped the man and he dropped his weapon. Steve grabbed it, scooting closer to Bucky even as his vision started to blur from the swelling from where he’d been kneed in the face.

He didn’t notice Bucky sitting up until he was slumped against him, trying to grab for the crowbar.

“I got’em, Stevie,” Bucky slurred. “I got’em.”

“Lie down,” Steve pleaded, his arm sending lashes of pain through his entire system. “You need to lie down.”

“Ain’t gonna do it,” Bucky retorted sleepily. He clearly had a concussion or something close to it.

Steve turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as he kissed Bucky’s temple. “For me. Just lie down.”

“Fine. Jus’ fer a minute,” Bucky murmured, lowering his head to rest in Steve’s lap.

“Just stay awake,” Steve whispered, fighting the urge to scream. His arm hurt horribly, and he was pretty sure he had a compound fracture, but didn’t want to look. “Stay awake.”

“’M not sleepy, ya punk,” Bucky slurred, moving his head little. “Just hurts like hell.”

Steve adjusted his grip on the crowbar, watching carefully as the group of military men gathered themselves. They were surprisingly resilient for a bunch of brutes.

“Can’t say I ever thought we’d be in this spot again,” Steve said with a pained chuckle.

Bucky let out a wet snort. “Ah, wouldn’t be right if we didn’t get in some kinda scuffle.”

It was like they were kids again. Pinned in a back alley by the neighborhood bullies, Steve fighting for his life while Bucky was just practicing, keeping the boys from beating on him too bad.  He never let Steve feel like a failure except when the fight was just going to be too much for his small frame. Bucky was better than a protector, he was something much more.

“Aww, look at the little cock sucking Captain America,” the man with the bloody nose said.

“Back off. If you leave now, I’ll let SHIELD know you reconsidered,” Steve commanded, his voice somehow level.

“Not gonna happen,” Hastings cut, and that seemed to be the cue.

Steve swung the crowbar with all of his might and it connected with a man’s shin with a crack. He pulled back to swing again, but one of the men grabbed it. A pipe hit Steve in the shoulder, but he only started yelling when he saw another pipe hit Bucky in the leg.

“Get away from him!” Steve shouted as Bucky scrambled to a crouch and swung his arm wildly, cracking the side of his metal forearm into Hastings’ knee. Hastings let out a howl of pain and Bucky staggered to his feet to kick the fallen man square in the face.

Steve rolled to miss a pipe, his broken arm screaming in pain so badly that it blinded him for a moment. His broken arm felt as though it had gotten stuck underneath a tank.

“Steve,” Bucky spat through a clot of blood in his mouth. “You okay?”

Steve thought he had known pain. Getting shot, stabbed, and embedded with shrapnel had all been things he had thought were painful. Punches and kicks never quite hurt as bad, but he had considered those to be painful too.

None of that was like getting his arm bones cleaved through.  The hyper-sensitivity of his nerve endings made the pain blinding, and he had a feeling that his body’s healing properties were actually making things worse due to the fact that his body wasn’t advanced enough to shove his arm bone back through his skin and into place.  His head started spinning, mostly because of the nausea of seeing his own bone sticking from his body.

But the pain kept him there. From the disturbing feeling of his exposed bones grating against asphalt to the way his lungs rattled his bruised ribs, Steve stayed awake. Or maybe it was because it took a hell of a lot to make him pass out.

Either way, he was awake. For now.

“Steve!” Bucky called out, his arm letting out a little whurr before his metal fist collided with a brawny cheekbone.

“Shut the fuck up, faggot!” one of the men shouted, landing another blow to Steve’s head from behind. Steve’s eyes rolled back for a second, but he recovered and stayed conscious. He knew he could fight—he knew he should be fighting—but his brain was moving too slow.

Bucky charged over with fury in his eyes, cracking another skull with his fist and prompting a scream from the man who had been hit.  “Stay awake, Stevie,” Bucky said, his voice authoritative and even. “We’ll be outta this real soon.”

Steve tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it as another weapon clanged against Bucky’s arm, the sound rattling in his skull.

“I can fight these assholes all day,” Bucky said. “You—hey.” He slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Quit lookin’ at your arm, okay? Trust me, it’ll be fine. Just don’t move it.”

“No,” Steve gasped out. “I can fight too.”

Yet he just stood there as another assailant grabbed Bucky from behind. It looked like he tried to toss him, but Bucky barely moved an inch. Then Bucky flung his metal elbow behind him and it rammed into the man’s temple. Bucky twisted around and kneed the guy in the chest, punched him another time, and then kicked him so hard he flew into a car and fell limp to the ground.

“I—sorry,” Steve managed to choke out.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, ya hear me?” Bucky whispered, clutching at Steve’s shirt with his free hand. “Don’t fuckin’ apologize. Don’t do it.”

Suddenly Bucky looked up and tensed for a second, but then relaxed again as a car door slammed.

“Everybody get down! On your knees with your hands above your head!” a booming voice ordered. Steve couldn’t turn to see the source, he was just staring into space, thinking about how his arm was _broken_. There was the squealing of tires and the clap of boots on pavement as Steve began to shake. Oh. He began to realize he was going into shock. He hadn’t thought that was possible.

The attack had stopped, but the pain did not. Every breath hurt terribly, every shift further wrecked his broken arm.

“Stevie, you’re gonna be fine,” Bucky soothed. He said something else, but Steve couldn’t understand.

“What?”

Bucky spoke again, but he was making sounds Steve didn’t recognize. Everything was starting to fade, but he was desperate to hang on. He had to know Bucky was safe.

“Found them.”

Steve turned his head, trying to find the source of the voice. It sounded like Clint, but he couldn’t be sure.

The only thing he was sure of was that he was being moved away from Bucky, which prompted him to start shouting. He had no idea who was doing the pulling and for all he knew, this wasn’t SHIELD at all.

“—down!—Fuck—know anything?” That was Bucky’s voice. He knew that one.

Suddenly he could feel Bucky’s hand gripping tight to the hand on his good arm. Steve tried to squeeze back, but his hand wouldn’t move.  His body only listened to the pain radiating though his head and the horrible throbbing in his arm.  Then he was siting on something that was sort of soft, and there were a lot of fuzzy lights in his face. Surely his eye wasn’t that swollen from such a measly punch. There was a sharp prick in his leg that made him jerk. Bucky’s voice was in his ear as nothing more than a rumbling, then his body stopped listening altogether and all went black.


	32. Chapter 32

Steve woke up on a couch with burlap patches sewn into the upholstery and stuffed flour sacks for pillows. The air smelled sickly sweet with a mix of cow’s blood from the butcher’s shop and fresh bread form the bakery.  He looked down at himself to see no cuts or bruises and no evidence whatsoever of a fight.

He reached a hand up to rub his jaw and found no swelling. Breathing was easy even with the dust in the air.

“Good, you’re awake. I was wondering how long you would sleep.”

Steve turned his head to see Bucky leaned beside the window, staring out at an auburn sky scarred with factory smoke. His hair was short, ruffled, and messy from sleep, his eyes red rimmed.

“Was I sick?” Steve slurred, sitting up on the couch.

Bucky snorted. “I’ll say. You nearly coughed out a lung—I’m serious.”

Steve touched his throat, but there was no swelling there either. “How long was a I sleeping?”

“Long time,” Bucky murmured. “I was about to call somebody to take you out of here. I thought you were dead.”

“I…” He looked down at himself again, but he wasn’t skinny. All of his muscle was still there, stretching his t-shirt in the way Bucky said he liked.  When he heard the strike of a match, he looked up to see Bucky lighting a cigarette. Now that wasn’t right.

“You smoke?”

Bucky laughed, a cloud of smog swirling from his lips. “Yeah, I smoke. There’s a lot of things I do that you don’t know about.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Bucky?”

“Mm?”

“Look at me.” Something wasn’t right here. The pieces weren’t fitting together. Something was wrong.

Bucky pushed more smoke from his mouth, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette. “We both know that isn’t a good idea.”

“No, I don’t.” Steve lowered his feet to the wood floor. “Look at me.”

“You never should have gone to war, Steve,” Bucky breathed with another puff of smoke. “You weren’t meant for it.”

“Neither were you,” Steve said coldly. “Now quit looking out the window and look at me.”

A husky laugh fell from Bucky’s lips. “For someone that’s supposed to be better in every way, you’re not that bright.”

“Bucky, I’m done playing games,” Steve snapped, jumping up from the chair. “Now quit—“

A gloved hand slapped over his mouth and yanked him back with incredible force. Steve landed on his back on the floor, staring up at two massive black bug eyes and mask. The Winter Soldier.

This was a dream.

“I know this isn’t real,” Steve managed, his voice hoarse. “ I know it isn’t—“

The Winter Soldier’s metal fist punched him so hard in the sternum that he screamed. Steve looked for Bucky, but he was gone.

The Winter Soldier took advantage of his distracted thoughts and stomped on his kneecap before grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up until they were face-to-face. He could hear quiet breathing on the other side of the mask. All he could see was the reflection of his own terrified eyes.

“Why?” Steve rasped.

Instead of an answer, the Winter Soldier shoved a gun to his throat and pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

 

“The world’s newest and most controversial supercouple; Captain America and his old wartime best friend, Bucky Barnes, were involved in what appears to have been an attempted attack yesterday evening. San Francisco officials have located several suspects involved in the beatings, but many are questioning whether or not this was a publicity stunt.”

“Fuck.” A voice was close to his ear, but Steve didn’t recognize it.

“—press conference is expected to take place within the next few days to discuss the problem. In a statement released by Tony Stark, he scathingly went after those news channels reporting that this was for publicity, saying quote: ‘Those who think that Steve Rogers would ever fabricate something of this severity are as delusional as the villains Captain America takes off the streets every day.’ As for the status of Captain America and his lover? No word yet from the hospital, but a source close to the Captain says he is up and moving.”

Well, that wasn’t true in the slightest. Steve could feel that he had healed significantly, but beyond his ribs sewing themselves back together, he had no idea how well off he was. But he knew he was hungry, and the terror in his blood from his nightmare had left him parched as well.

Lips pressed to his temple and Steve tensed, which abruptly ended the kiss.

“Steve? Stevie? You awake?”

Using every ounce of energy in his being, Steve lifted an eyelid to a sea of blue.  Bucky was staring at him intently, his lips drawn in a frown and his brow creased with worry.

“Hey,” Steve rasped, his voice eerily similar to the one he’d had in the nightmare.

“Oh thank God,” Bucky sighed, pressing his forehead to Steve’s temple. “Jesus, ya just got hit with a crowbar a few times. Ya didn’t need to scare me and pass out!”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“How you feelin’?” Bucky asked, reaching up to ruffle his hair gently. “You look better.”

“Mm. I feel sleepy.” He wasn’t even sure if that had come out right, his lips were slower than his brain right now.

“You and me both, pal,” Bucky murmured, nuzzling against him.

“You ‘kay? Your head…”

“I’m fine, Stevie,” Bucky said with a little chuckle. “All checked out. Had some swelling but it went down. I’m fine now.”

Steve dimly realized that they were indeed in a hospital, and Bucky was squished onto a hospital bed with him. He wanted to move over to give Bucky room, but he could barely stay awake, let alone move.

“Bruce checked?”

Bucky nodded. “Bruce checked. I’m fine. And you’ll be fine too—‘cept your arm. That’s gonna need a day or two. Everything else looked good though. That’s what the doc said.”

“Mm. ‘M not feelin’ real fine,” Steve mumbled, turning his head to face Bucky’s. Bucky gave him a slow kiss, one that Steve returned as best he could.

“Yeah, you’ll be sleepy for a little while. Then we gotta do a press conference.”

Steve groaned. “Today?”

Bucky nodded grimly. “Today. I didn’t wanna do it, but apparently you’re better off than ya looked, pal.”

He certainly didn’t feel it. But bruises could hurt, he knew that. And if his ribs were healed, his bodily trauma was probably pretty well off too. It just hurt like hell.

“You’re okay though?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.” He planted a kiss on Steve’s lips for good measure. “It’s you that wasn’t—“

“You smoke?” Steve asked, brow furrowing.

Bucky blinked. “Smoke? No? Stevie, I don’t smoke. Never have ‘cause of your asthma. I mean, sometimes after work I’d smoke one with the guys—and maybe a few times during the war but—”

“What about…before?”

Bucky frowned. “I…I don’t know. I don’t think so.  If I did, it wasn’t exactly the first thing on my mind, y’know?”

Steve smiled a little. “Yeah, ‘course.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, leaning up on an elbow to look at him through the wisps of his hair that always seemed to be in his face.

Steve tried to shrug, but it didn’t really work. “Had a nightmare.”

Bucky laughed. “Only you, Steve. Havin’ a nightmare about me smokin’.”

He smiled, choosing not to tell Bucky about the inclusion of the Winter Soldier. It wasn’t something they needed to discuss right now. Really, Steve just wanted to go to sleep.

“What c’n I say. ‘M a worrier,” he finally slurred after a moment of lazy silence.

“Understatement of two centuries,” Bucky teased with a wide grin. He gave Steve another kiss. “But really, ‘m just happy you’re okay. I was the worrier these past few hours.”

“Did a good job,” Steve assured him, his eyelids falling closed. He needed just one more nap, then he would be good to go. Probably. Hopefully.

He was losing his ability to focus, but he hoped that Bucky realized how happy he was—how thankful he was that they had both made it out alive. His body just wouldn’t let him experience his full range of emotion about it, for once, but he was content just to close his eyes and nuzzle into Bucky’s collarbone.

“Sure yer okay?” he asked after a long while.

Bucky chuckled, a warm rumble in his ear. “I’m okay. Get some rest, Stevie. I’ll be right here. I love ya.”

“Love you too,” Steve mumbled.

Within ten seconds, he was asleep.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super special thanks to my cousin sean for his translation skills!

News of the attack on Steve and Bucky had launched the media into a new kind of firestorm. Where there had once been piranhas out for blood, they had turned into a feeding frenzy so vicious that they ended up attacking each other as they spewed stories and theories left and right about what caused the beating. Some channels claimed such an attack would had to have been provoked, while others called for government action about protection against such attacks in the future.

Tony had his hands full with questions about why it had taken SHIELD so long to arrive, which wasn’t even his job to handle, but he took the heat anyway. He said that anything that took some of the spotlight off of Steve and Bucky was the best idea before the press conference. The whole world was turning its attention on a hotel meeting space in San Francisco that had been meant for something much smaller than the swarm of reporters fighting for a spot inside.

The overflow in the lobby had started a few fights with hotel staff, but after a few hundred bucks to the desk staff and each of the bellhops, they kept quiet. News companies vied for the coveted spots close to the stage and cameras were flashing whenever there was a flutter of movement behind the privacy curtain that hid Steve and Bucky from the crowd.

“Would ya quit powderin’ me up? I ain’t a dame,” Bucky grumbled, swatting at a woman attacking him with a makeup brush.

“You have to look good for the cameras,” Tony said, closing his eyes as another woman brushed powder onto them. “Trust me, if they don’t do this stuff you’ll look like the sorry old men that you are.”

Steve rolled his eyes, tilting his head a bit to the side to allow his makeup person to apply more powder there. He wasn’t a fan of makeup, but he had a lot of respect for the men and women that had made it their profession.

“Remember, you need to shift the topic to the Wounded Warriors as best you can,” Tony said. “Everyone’s going to ask about the attack. Answer, but don’t linger. Bring it around to the gala.”

Steve nodded, gingerly shifting is arm in its new navy blue sling. A fashion designer had picked out the color to match his current button up. The right sleeve had to be cut to fit around his cast, but rolled up, it was impossible to tell.

Bruce said he could remove the cast at the end of the conference and even showed him how to do it.

Fast healing was probably his favorite thing about the serum.

Tony glared at Steve’s arm, a sour look on his face. “It’s bad enough that they’ve all had a day to fester. Half the people out there think you’re horribly disfigured or something. If only all the other gay men on this planet could be so lucky.”

“He’s already off the market, pal,” Bucky growled.

“Just saying. People think we’re about to push you out in a wheelchair. So keep the cast hidden, got it? Don’t make a scene.”

“Right,” Steve said with a snort. “Like we haven’t already made a scene.”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready when you are,” one of the media team members said.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Remember, Steve—hide the cast. We aren’t here for a pity party.”

With that, Tony slipped through the curtain to a flurry of camera shutters and shouted questions. Where Steve had once been made nervous by the amount of people attending the press conferences, now he was just further exhausted the more he thought about it. He couldn’t wait until all of the press stuff was over.

“That guy’s a real jerk,” Bucky muttered, slipping his arms around Steve’s waist from behind and placing his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“I don’t think he planned on being part of this press tour,” Steve chuckled, leaning back into Bucky’s chest. Nothing could quite match what it felt like to share body heat with another person. With Bucky.

“Yeah. He probably thought he was just gonna send us off and have the whole tower to himself. Sorry, pal.”

Steve laughed. “He is a good guy though.”

“You keep sayin’ that and I keep not wantin’ to believe ya.”

“Buck,” Steve said, giving him a sidelong look. “He’s a good friend.”

Instead of answering, Bucky just grunted, the sound muffled by Steve’s shoulder.

Steve used his good hand and folded it over Bucky’s metal one. “When we get done with this, let’s go back to our room and not leave the rest of the day.”

He could feel Bucky’s grin spread on his shoulder. “I like the sound a that. I’d like it better if we didn’t have to wear all these shitty clothes.”

The blush crept on Steve’s cheeks long before he found the courage to answer. “Maybe we can arrange that.”

“What?!?” Bucky lifted his head off of his shoulder. “Really? I was just kiddin’ around but—“

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, you’re up,” another crewmember said, motioning toward the curtain.

Steve turned and pressed his lips to Bucky’s with confidence that betrayed the butterfly conservatory in his stomach.  “I want to. If you want to.”

“Damn right, I want to!”

Steve grinned, happy to see Bucky smiling so brightly.  The whole room seemed to liven up whenever Bucky was happy—it was one of the things Steve had always admired about him. No smile was as infectious as that of Bucky Barnes. 

Steve took Bucky’s flesh hand and squeezed it. “Ready?”

“Let’s get this thing over with,” Bucky replied with a nod. “I wanna get back to our room.”

They stepped out through the curtain and Steve was immediately blinded by camera flashes and deafened by screaming reporters. He squeezed Bucky’s hand and stopped, squinting through the white haze. He hadn’t expected to be frightened by this at all, but he swore he heard the guttural scraping of a crowbar dragging across asphalt.

The touch of Bucky’s thumb tracing the side of his palm pulled him back, but he was still nervous. Despite the lack of physical evidence on his current body (there were plenty of pictures from right after the incident—many of which that had leaked online), the mental injuries were still sharp in Steve’s mind. They had both almost been killed. SHIELD referred to it as a scuffle, but it was much more than that.

He’d almost lost Bucky again.

They took their seats at a provided table, their hands linked. Steve remembered when he had been too afraid just to do that. They had really come a long way, especially for such a short time. Everything was different from the foggy Sunday mornings by the lake when he and the Winter Soldier had shuffled around each other in the dim light, searching for coffee grinds and—Bucky’s favorite!—almond milk.

Tony introduced them and quieted everyone down before stepping off to the sidelines to stand next to several Wounded Warrior administrators, Pepper, Rhodey, and Clint. Bruce was supposedly around the hotel somewhere, though Steve hadn’t had the chance to see him since he’d visited the hospital the day before.

Steve lifted his hand from Bucky’s to give the reporters a wave, flashing his brightest smile. If he just thought about going back to the hotel room with Bucky, he would be fine. He wasn’t so sure about how he would feel once he got there, but for now the thought of snuggling under the covers with the man he loved seemed like an excellent way to spend a day.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming,” he started, returning his hand to Bucky’s. “I’m sure most of you are here to get the scoop on what happened two days ago, but we’re not here to talk about that.” Tony visibly relaxed in his peripheral vision. “But it does show that there are many things this country needs to fix.”

Bucky clawed a hand through his hair. “What happened to Steve and I wasn’t somethin’ that normal people woulda survived. And we know we ain’t the only men who’ve gone through shit like that.”

Tony passed a hand over his face, but Clint was grinning now.

“The fact that this was committed by members of the US military is what’s the most frustrating about this case,” Steve continued. “On active duty, this kind of thing happens and there isn’t a group of SHIELD agents at the ready to defend the victims. The men and women in our military are already laying down their lives. They risk getting injured by IEDs, ambushed by extremist groups, and the ever-present threat of getting shot and killed. Their own platoons shouldn’t be added to that list of fears.”

The reporters murmured amongst themselves, jotting down notes on phones and whispering into their recording devices.

“I’m not going to lie to you all—I’m going to be afraid to walk the streets for awhile. But I’m going to be even more afraid for Bucky. If I think about what might have happened if he’d been walking around by himself…and San Francisco is a place that was supposed to be accepting and safe. It is. The vast majority of it is, but those men proved that it doesn’t matter how safe it seems. This kind of thing needs to stop,” Steve said, his gaze level as he swept it over the crowd.

“On a final note on the topic, those men that attacked us will be put to justice. Nobody is getting away with anything this time, like so many people have in the past. It stops here. I don’t care if some of you think I’m using my identity as Captain America to make sure that happens—I will. If that means getting horrible people off the streets, hell, that’s what I do every day anyway.”

Bucky circled his thumb on the joint of Steve’s, a smirk on his face. That look meant Steve had showed quite a bit of sass.

“Anyway,” Steve said. “We’re here now to discuss the Wounded Warrior Gala. For those of you looking at my cast—I’m fine.” To prove it, he slipped off his sling and whacked the plaster cast against the table with enough force to crack through it. It twinged in pain a little and he was sure Bruce was screaming somewhere, but With a few pulls, the shell of his cast was set on top of the sling on the table. Tony was boiling over on the sidelines, looking like he might just explode. “Bucky, you have the floor.”

Bucky chuckled. "Ну, Стив наверно не самый лучший пример, а стоимость медицинского обслуживания для ветеранов является—"

Steve’s blood froze in his veins, but a little smile remained on his face. Bucky hadn’t spoken Russian in a long time, only the occasional curse. Hearing it now as what he assumed was a joke was a bit off-putting. “In English, Buck.”

Bucky blinked once, twice, then looked back out at the crowd. "Я говорю по-Английский. Я правда говорю по-Английский?"

It wasn’t until Bucky squeezed his hand with the force of a trash compactor that Steve realized something was very wrong. He glanced over to Tony, and when their eyes met, the color drained from the billionaire’s face. Clint was staring too, and minutely nodded toward Steve, mouthing “roll with it.”

"Я не понимаю что происходит," Bucky said quietly, his voice shaking. The reporters were hushed, looking back and forth between Steve and Bucky to see whether or not this was purposeful.

Steve cleared his throat, but he was shaking. “Well, this is an example of the effects of PTSD and extended military duty.” Thank God he could talk out his ass, even under fear and pressure. “This happens sometimes—“ Lie. “—and it’s something that Bucky and I have had to work through with our relationship. Speaking Russian was a requirement during his time with HYDRA, and the effects of that brainwashing and torture have affected his psyche.”

He looked over at Bucky, who was staring at him with wide eyes full of confusion and fear. Steve squeezed his hand and leaned over to speak to Bucky privately.

“What’s going on, Buck?” he whispered, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

Bucky looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "Ты меня понимаешь?"

Steve squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re saying. But it’s me, it’s Steve—“

"Я знаю кто ты!" Bucky shouted suddenly, and the entire room flinched collectively.

Steve shot Tony a wide-eyed look, and Tony nodded once, his face pale.

“Ladies and gents, we’re wrapping this up,” Tony announced. “I’m not holding a press conference at the expense of Bucky, who’s experienced some real trauma in these last...”

Steve stopped listening, and searched Bucky’s face for clues as to what the hell he was saying. He didn’t look hostile, but he was very confused. And terrified—that more than everything else.  Steve had to fight to look like he wasn’t terrified too.

"Что происходит?" Bucky asked in a pleading tone.

Steve frowned, carefully reaching forward and tucking a swath of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “We’ll figure this out. Whatever this is, it’s okay. Let’s go talk to Bruce, okay?”

The cameras were going crazy as Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and helped him back through the curtain. Clint was there already, talking into his phone.

“Bruce?” Steve asked, praying that was who Clint was talking to.

Clint nodded once, glanced to Bucky, and started explaining the problem.

Tony came through the curtain next, the color returned to his face. “What the hell just happened in there? What the hell was that?”

Steve moved in front of Bucky a little as if to physically shield him from whatever Tony was accusing him of. “I have no idea. We’re going to have Bruce check it out.”

Tony looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he let out a huff and pushed past Steve to presumably deal with the media trying to sneak behind the curtain.

Bucky squeezed tighter to his hand and Steve turned, his heart clenching at the sight of Bucky so scared.

“You’re going to be fine,” Steve said with a warm smile. He tugged his hand free and promptly wrapped his arms around Bucky for an embrace. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

He was thankful that his ribs were no longer broken, because when Bucky returned the hug it nearly broke all of them again.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered.

Steve blinked in surprise upon hearing English,  then nuzzled into Bucky’s neck. “See? You’re all back to normal. You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Bucky choked out. “I’m not okay.”

Steve hugged Bucky tighter. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I love you. We’re going to find out what happened and it’ll all be fine.”

“Steve!” Bruce’s voice reached through the frantic murmuring all around them.

Steve pulled away a little to see Bruce pushing through people, looking like he’d just run a marathon.

“Bucky started speaking Russian,” Steve explained. “I don’t think he realized he was doing it—“

“I didn’t,” Bucky said, pulling away from Steve completely, his face stone. “Let’s go. I wanna find out what the fuck is going on.”

 

* * *

 

 

The longer Steve sat in the waiting room, the more panic began to grip him.  The Winter Soldier couldn’t be returning. That didn’t make any sense. Okay, maybe it did. All of the stress of the press conferences and being beaten half to death might very well have triggered something. But that stress could be reduced—completely, if they had to. He and Bucky could move back to the town near the lake and spend the rest of their lives with all of the retirees and tourists.

If the Winter Soldier did return, Steve could deal with that. They already had something like a truce. Steve would still love Bucky just the same.

Oh god, they hadn’t even had sex yet. They hadn’t even spoken about their relationship for a while, aside from when Steve had yelled at Bucky before the trip. Just for joking about him being naked—how stupid! Steve put his head in his hands, anxiously waiting for when Bruce would come back with the conclusion of his testing.

Scans, cognitive tests, and high-powered readings with technology that he didn’t even have a name for were all explained to him in quick succession just before Bucky was escorted away. Clint and Natasha were on standby, just in case Bucky got violent and Steve couldn’t bring him back down.

He looked up when he heard footsteps. Finally, after three hours, a nurse had come for him.

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes expressed that he’d like your company.”

Steve was on his feet in an instant, following the nurse through twisting hallways to a corner room with spacious windows that gave a beautiful view of the Pacific. It was calming—at least, Steve assumed it was supposed to be. He just didn’t feel very calm when he saw Bucky sitting in an examination chair.

Bruce sat in an office chair, his glasses spinning between his thumb and index finger. Something heavy was on his mind.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky greeted. He looked exhausted.

Steve crossed to him and kissed him, desperate to know what was going on. “How are you?”

“ ‘M fine,” Bucky said, smiling fondly. “Grab a seat. Bruce is about to give us all the dirt.”

Steve pushed over a chair beside Bucky’s and sat down beside his boyfriend, gripping tight to Bucky’s metal hand.

“You waited out there that whole time?” Bucky asked, looking at the clock. “Please tell me you got some dinner.”

Steve gave him a look. “I was too worried about you.”

Bucky shook his head with a roll of his eyes. It was an act, and they both knew it. All of this was an act. “Such a softie, Rogers. Ain’t gonna get far in life bein’ a softie.”

A stiff silence settled over the three men for a moment, until Bruce cleared his throat.

“I’m going to cut to the chase here,” he began, his voice quiet and professional. “Bucky, your brain cells are being destroyed faster than you can regenerate them. Now, most people can’t create new brains cells, but you and Steve can. Anyone else would be dead by now, with the rate this is happening.”

Steve’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed Bucky’s hand.

“Through this testing, I’m concluded that this is something like Alzheimer’s, but it isn’t Alzheimer’s or dementia. This is something more targeted.”

Bruce hesitated and Bucky’s lips pressed to a hard line. He knew something that Steve didn’t.

“What does that mean?” Steve asked, looking between Bruce and Bucky. When they didn’t answer, he asked again: “What does that mean?”

“It means this was engineered,” Bruce confessed. “I believe this is a neurological failsafe created by HYDRA. Probably a preventative measure in the event that the Winter Soldier was compromised—that’s my theory anyway. Whatever it is, it’s only targeting the parts of the brain that store memory, and only very specific parts of those.”

The floor seemed to fall away.

Steve lowered his head, biting his lip as hard as he could to keep from sobbing. Bucky needed him to be strong. He had to be strong.

“There are drugs that might slow the process, but given the way Bucky’s immune system reacts to medicines, it isn’t likely they’ll do anything,” Bruce continued quietly.

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand. “I’ll try ‘em. Can’t hurt to try.”

A sob escaped Steve’s lips before he could hold it in.

“You did those tests on me before, how come ya didn’t see it then?” Bucky asked, his voice somehow level as Steve crumbled in the chair beside him.

“There isn’t really a test for this. Unless you’re specifically looking for it, you don’t see it. From what you told me in your evaluations, you showed no signs of memory loss. But doing the cognitive tests today…something’s changed.” Bruce swallowed, tucking his glasses into his shirt pocket.  “And given the speed of the decay…I’d say this has only been happening for a few months at most. I don’t know what triggered it, and I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

“So there’s—there’s the pills,” Steve hiccupped. “What else? What else can we do?”

Bruce frowned, shaking his head. “There’s nothing we can do now. If the pills don’t stop the regeneration of brain cells…”

“Will he…?” Steve couldn’t say the word.

“I don’t know,” Bruce answered, looking pained. “Right now, I don’t know.”

“Wha—What about the Winter Soldier?” he had to know. He had to know how to try to prepare for this.

Bruce just shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I have no idea.”

Steve’s heart was pounding in his ears and everything was spinning so fast that he was sure he was going to vomit. Tears were already leaking down his cheeks, but he refused to believe this was really happening. There had to be a mistake. There had to be.

“I’m getting a second opinion on this. Many opinions, actually. I have several friends in neurology that will better be able to discern what’s going on here,” Bruce offered.

Bucky leaned forward in his seat, pushing the armrest back so he had access to Steve, who immediately collapsed into Bucky’s chest.

“It’s not real,” Steve sobbed, anguish clawing at his heart. “It’s not real.”

Bucky’s arms wrapped tightly around him and Steve knew the exact opposite should be happening. He should be comforting Bucky, just like he should have noticed that something was wrong.

“Thanks, doc,” Bucky murmured. “I’ll give ya a call later, but I think I’m good for now.”

Bruce didn’t need to be told twice, and left immediately. The door swung shut behind him, leaving Bucky and Steve alone in the office

“It’s not—“ Steve hiccupped, shaking his head against Bucky’s chest, his sobs muffled in the fabric of his shirt. He raked through every memory, everything he could think of that might have pointed to this, but came up with nothing. Bucky hadn’t so much as looked confused since he was still occupying the same space as the Winter Soldier.  Had he? Or had he missed something?

“Hey, shh, Stevie,” Bucky soothed, the same way he had when it was Steve who was predicted to die back in the day. “We’re gonna be all right. I’m gonna take those pills, I’m gonna get fixed up.”

“No you won’t,” Steve croaked.

Bucky sniffed above him and Steve noticed he was shaking again. “I-I know. But I’m gonna try. I’m gonna try whatever it takes,” he choked out before burying his nose in Steve’s hair.

The grief was overwhelming. A gradual degeneration of everything they had worked for—all of the progress they had made. Steve cried harder, unable and willing to process. This was a dream, like the nightmare with the Winter Soldier. Except Steve wanted to be shot this time, he wanted to wake up.

“We’re gonna win,” Bucky said shakily. “I got you on my side. I got you. No…Nobody…Nobody’s ever lost with you on their side. Not gonna happen this time, either. I’m gonna fight ‘til I can’t fight, ‘cause I’m with ya ‘til the end of the line. Remember?”

Steve clutched feebly at Bucky’s shoulders, unable to ward off the waves of sorrow overwhelming him. In the quiet, he dared to ask the question plaguing him.

“B-but what if it makes you forget about the line altogether?”

Bucky didn’t answer, he just pulled Steve tighter to his chest.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter I've been waiting for!! >:D
> 
> For those of you interested, this wasn’t just a random happenstance! Bucky’s mental degeneration has been showing symptoms since Chapter 24. They were purposefully designed to be subtle, because with diseases like dementia and Alzheimer’s, this is exactly how it occurs. It often isn’t until something noticeable happens that patients go in for testing, as was the case in my family. 
> 
> Since Chapter 24, Bucky has showed at least 9 warning signs of Alzheimers/dementia (some were foreshadowing but nine were directly written in as a sign). See if you can pinpoint them all! Or you can wait until the last chapter, where I’ll post them all in order. 
> 
> Most of the time, these symptoms are simply ignored and seen as “normal.” It isn’t until they start to happen often or with severity that anyone notices or pays attention, so several of these signs are quite small—but all were strategic! 
> 
> You can find out more about the signs here: http://www.alz.org/alzheimers_disease_10_signs_of_alzheimers.asp
> 
> This chapter the reason I warned you all to be wary all the way back in Chapter 1. :P


	34. Chapter 34

Steve knew this was his fault. If he hadn’t forced Bucky into all of the press conferences, moving to New York, keeping their relationship a secret for so long, none of this would have happened.  Bucky had been so forgiving and patient and kind—Steve could never hope to repay him for it. Now every smile was one closer to the last, and every soft utter of his name was one closer to when Bucky would forget it.

Steve raked his mind for signs of memory loss and the only one that stuck out to him was the time Bucky had called him looking for his jacket while he’d been out with Natasha. Back then he had assumed what anyone would; that Bucky had just misplaced it. But had he been smarter, he would have known to get it checked out. Surely the Winter Soldier didn’t just misplace things. Though Bucky hadn’t been the Winter Soldier then, so many things had stuck from him that Steve should have known.

Bruce prescribed several pills for Bucky to start taking. In an effort to combat his fast metabolism, Bucky was taking a pill every six hours.

He looked terrible. A frown was etched on his features almost permanently and he didn’t say much aside from the occasional comment about the weather or how they should do something else to help plan for the gala. Steve just squeezed his hand and sat with him, unable to find words.

Sleep evaded him that night. Bucky ended up sprawled on his chest, fingering the sheets with his metal arm and closing his eyes every so often to just listen to Steve’s heartbeat. Several times Steve bit his lip open to keep from crying like an idiot. He wasn’t sick, Bucky was. Steve had no right to cry and he knew it.

Eventually, Bucky did doze off, leaving Steve to wonder if it was the disease in his brain making him forget that he was supposed to be sleeplessly upset.

 

 

When Bucky woke up again, Steve’s eyes were glazed as he stared at the ceiling. He was trying to imagine their future, and wondering if they should do anything now that they knew Bucky was going to forget it all. Did they get married? Engaged? Have sex? Steve still wasn’t comfortable with that yet, but if Bucky wanted it, he would do it.

Bucky smacked his lips, lifting his head up from Steve’s chest with a lazy closed-eye smile. “Mornin’.”

Steve took a deep breath before replying. “Good morning.”

Bucky’s head flopped back onto his chest with a little thud and he nuzzled into Steve’s shirt, the beginnings of his stubble pulling at the fabric. “Less get breakfus,” Bucky slurred.

Steve couldn’t believe that just three days ago his biggest worry had been about some stupid Marine beating them up. How he prayed that could have been the worst part of the week.

He lifted a hand, threading his fingers through Bucky’s long hair. It was so soft, so different from the roughness that the rest of his body had taken on during fifty years as the world’s top assassin. Nobody knew this version of the Winter Soldier, or of Bucky Barnes.  Only Steve, and Steve was the only one denying him.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he asked quietly, the words awkward on his tongue before they even left his mouth.

“Steve,” Bucky groaned. “Don’t do this right now.”

“If you want to, I will. And not just because you want to. I want to.”

Bucky let out a sigh, opening his eyes only to roll them. “You ain’t ready for that. I ain’t even ready for that.”

Steve swallowed. “Well, I could be. If you wanted.”

Bucky frowned, sliding his hands up Steve’s chest and past his head, like a cat stretching out in the sun. He sighed and settled his chin in the crook of Steve’s neck. “Well, I don’t,” he murmured. “I like this, right here. I don’t need anything else, got it?”

“Right,” Steve said curtly. “Except I know you better than anyone, and the fact that you’ve gone this long without getting in bed with someone is downright unbeliev—“

“Hey,” Bucky growled, thumping him on the chest with an elbow. “Before wasn’t anything like it is now. I got you. And yeah, maybe it’s been awhile since I rolled around in the sheets with someone, but that ain’t all I want outta life, Steve. What I got with you is better than all that.” His flesh hand came down to thumb blindly at Steve’s jaw. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

“I just…” Steve let out a breath to keep from tearing up all over again. “I want you to be happy.”

He felt Bucky smile just before a kiss was lazily pressed to his neck. “You’re in luck, pal. ‘Cause ‘m happy.”

“No, Buck, I want you to really be happy. I know there’s things you’ve wanted to do that you haven’t because of me,” Steve said.

Bucky sighed. “Steve. It ain’t like that, okay? I love you.” He pressed another kiss to Steve’s throat. “Maybe it hasn’t been clear to ya, but I love everything about ya. Everything we do, ‘long as it’s with you, ‘m happy. I mean that.”

Steve frowned. “I—“ He sighed. “Do you really? It’s just…I mean…We don’t really know how long you’ve—“

Bucky’s head flew up, a scowl on his face. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“But we really—“

“ _Don’t_.”

Steve swallowed his question and Bucky resumed sprawling himself out on his body, fitting himself into every groove and swell.  Then Bucky’s stomach growled.

With a defeated groan, Bucky hauled himself up onto his hands and promptly sat on Steve’s stomach, his dog tags swinging a moment before they clacked into his chest.

“C’mon. Let’s get breakfast.”

Without another word, Bucky slid off of Steve and out of bed. Steve noticed for the billionth time how good Bucky looked in sweats. He’s always looked good in baggy clothing, and somehow looked good in tight clothing too. Steve was unable to help his gaze from tracing the groove of Bucky’s spine that peeked out from beneath his rucked shirt.

Bucky crossed over to his dresser and Steve decided he ought to get out of bed too, though every bone in his body begged him to pull Bucky back onto the mattress and not move for the rest of the day, breakfast be damned.

It still hadn’t rooted itself in him that Bucky was going to forget him someday.

He stood and pulled off his shirt, hoping that fresh fabric would allow him to freshen his mind to keep away from ill thoughts.  Bucky hummed to himself as he sometimes did in the mornings, dragging a comb through his hair and inspecting his face in the mirror to see if he needed to shave.

Steve quickly threw on a shirt and moved over to Bucky to wrap his arms around him, but Bucky turned away and went to the closet, selecting a jacket.

“Are we going out for breakfast?” Steve asked, cocking a brow.

Bucky turned back to him, shrugging on his jacket. “Yeah. That a problem?”

Normally, it wouldn’t have been. But normal was gone from their lives forever. It had been since 1943. “I thought we were staying in today,” he admitted quietly.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “Nah. C’mon. I want some a those pancakes with the blueberry syrup. And some scrambled—“

“What about Froot Loops?” Steve blurted out. “I thought you liked Froot Loops for breakfast, You’ve eaten them every day since the lake and—“

“I like Froot Loops,” Bucky said gently, reaching forward to physically steady him. “I love ‘em. Sugar in a bowl—it’s fuckin’ great. “ His flesh hand came up to run through Steve’s hair while his eyes looked over Steve’s every feature.

“I don’t wanna leave,” Steve whispered pathetically. “Not ‘til I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh Stevie,” Bucky soothed, rubbing his arms.

“I don’t want to go to breakfast. I wanna have our breakfast. You have your Froot Loops and I’ll have my oatmeal with almond milk and—“

“You a neuroscientist, Rogers?” Bucky asked.

Steve sighed. “No, but—“

“Then quit worryin’ about stuff you can’t fix.”

Steve looked at the floor, shaking his head.

Bucky’s hands moved down to his chest, splaying out before he began to rub over Steve’s shoulders and back down again in an attempt to calm him.

“I’m gonna forget stuff,” Bucky murmured. “I’m already forgettin’ stuff. But I’m never gonna forget you. Steve Rogers is a name I’m never ever gonna forget. No matter what happens, I’m always gonna love you.”

Bucky tipped his head up, pressing his lips to Steve’s in a fond, tender kiss.

“Always.”

Steve pulled away, lifting his hand to bite his knuckles. He shook his head once, and ducked out of the room.

He couldn’t take it. Hearing Bucky accept the truth felt like they were giving up. Bucky couldn’t forget. He couldn’t forget.

Steve hurried across their floor of the tower that looked too old, too familiar, too much of everything it shouldn’t be. Bucky couldn’t live here, not for long. If he forgot what year it was, if he forgot where he was and if he was safe, he could break the window with his alien metal arm and jump. He wouldn’t ever believe that this swanky apartment was his. Steve couldn’t believe it sometimes and he wasn’t getting his brain killed off.

A broken sob escaped his throat before he could make it to the door and he collapsed to his knees on the floor. He’d sworn he wouldn’t cry anymore, but it was too much. This was worse than seeing Bucky fall.  This was seeing Bucky die slowly, painfully, and frightened in his last minutes because he wouldn’t know where he was.

Steve doubled over, his cheek burning as it slid against the carpet. His body shook with each of his muffled sobs and he just couldn’t take it anymore. One day in and he was a mess again. He was a fucking mess.

He jerked when Bucky touched him, but it only hiccupped his crying for a moment.

“Stevie.” There was so much brokenness in that voice. “Stevie, come here. ‘m right here.”

With some tugging, Steve crawled halfway into Bucky’s lap, still crying.

“I don’t wanna lose you, you know that?” Bucky croaked, thumbing Steve’s hair. “I finally got ya, everything—it isn’t fuckin’ fair. I-It ain’t fair.”

Steve crewed his eyes shut, sending more tears spilling from them and staining Bucky’s sweatpants. He gripped tightly to the fabric, wishing more than anything that this was just a bad dream—that he would wake up and Bucky would be sound asleep beside him and nobody knew they were together.

Instead they were huddled over each other on the floor, wasting time. Bucky’s brain was turning to sand and slipping right through their fingers.

“M’sorry,” Steve gasped out.

“No,” Bucky said firmly. “No.”

“I shoulda known—I shoulda—“

“Goddamn it, Steve. No.” Bucky’s voice was quivering so much he was barely understandable.

Hearing Bucky cry snapped him from his own breakdown a bit. Steve struggled to keep himself together and forced himself to sit up. Bucky had only ever cried a few times in his life, all of those times being when he was in so much pain his own body betrayed him and allowed tears to fall down his cheeks. Bucky didn’t look good when he cried, but god, the expression on his face could make the hardest man falter.

Bucky glanced around as though someone might be listening and sniffed a few times. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m real scared. I don’t wanna forget. I’m gonna forget and I don’t wanna. I’m not gonna remember this right here. I’m gonna forget—“

“I’ll keep you safe,” Steve promised, gathering Bucky in his arms. “You kept me safe for so long, Buck. It’s my turn.”

Instead of answering, Bucky just sobbed into his chest.

“I’m gonna make sure you know that you’re safe, always. I’m your Steve, yeah? You always listen to me.” He buried his nose into Bucky’s hair, the reverse of how they had looked in the hospital yesterday. “We’ll do this. I promise I ain’t ever gonna leave you.”

“What about when I for-forget ya?” Bucky stammered.

“I’m still gonna be right there,” Steve assured him. “I’ll be that nutball guy who has a crush on ya.” Sadness brought his accent back. Thinking about Bucky’s future made him feel smaller than he’d ever been before the serum.

“I’m always gonna love you. Count on that, Steve. Even if I forget,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve rubbed Bucky’s back, gently shushing him to try and ease his tears. “I know. And I’m always gonna be in love with you right back. You could shoot me and stab me all over again and I’ll be at your side in a heartbeat.”

That brought a sad chuckle from Bucky. “You’re stupider than you look, Rogers.”

Steve saw the Bucky from his nightmare, laughing around his cigarette in the yellowish haze of the apartment, telling him the exact same thing.

“I heard love does that to people,” he whispered.

After a few moments of holding Bucky in his arms, Bucky sat up, scrubbing his eyes and trying to calm his sobbing.

Steve leaned forward, pressing his lips to Bucky’s tearstained ones. The kiss tasted bitter with tears, but Steve preferred it to all the world. He didn’t know what he was going to do when Bucky no longer remembered this. When Bucky no longer wanted to kiss him at all.

“Wanna get breakfast?” Steve asked pathetically, smearing the tears from his own face. “Get some pancakes with blueberry syrup?”

Bucky nodded the same way children did after a breakdown.

Steve kissed him sweetly a second time, then a third. He didn’t know how he was going to be able to look at Bucky and not have love written all over his every feature, a devotion stronger than anything he ever could have hoped to feel with another human being.

“Get a jacket,” Bucky sniffled. “It’s gettin’ cold out there. Don’t want you catchin’ somethin’.”

Steve smiled weakly before nodding. “Okay. “ He leaned over one last time and kissed Bucky’s temple. “Anything for you.”

Bucky tried to chuckle, but it came out as a shaky sob instead. “Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Before Bucky could say anything else, Steve embraced him tightly once more, burrowing his face into the warm skin of Bucky’s neck and holding him tight. Bucky’s chin dug into his shoulder and they stayed there for a few minutes more, arms wound around each other while the clock on the wall ticked in their ears. Time was running out for them, so they had to to make the best of it that they could.

They had done impossible things before, and this time would be no different.


	35. Chapter 35

An autumn chill settled over New York a week after Bucky’s diagnosis, as if the city itself was grieving. It stuck too, for weeks afterward. Steve tried to keep himself in check, only crying when they were in the privacy of their home or when Bucky was visiting with Clint or Bruce. It was difficult, because Steve saw that Bucky was beginning to fade. He needed to set alarms for everything from going to dinner to taking his pills, which had multiplied to ten every six hours and four additional dailies.

Bruce’s friends confirmed that someone created the disease, and everyone knew it was HYDRA. They weren’t sure how much of Bucky’s memory would be erased, but there was at least a healthy amount of confidence that he would stay alive, since only the areas of his brain storing memory were targeted.

That still didn’t give Steve a lot to be happy about.

“So why are we getting’ all dressed up again?” Bucky asked, tugging at the collar of an expertly tailored suit that they’d bought a week ago.

“The gala’s tonight, Buck,” Steve reminded him gently. It was only the second time he’d asked.

“Oh, fuck. Right. Sorry, Stevie.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, noting that the dark navy of his jacket did look very nice with his tie.

“Well, I forgot. I know ya told me that before, y’know. You get all soft on me when it’s the second time I’ve asked somethin’,” Bucky said quietly, looking everywhere but at Steve.

Steve frowned. He hadn’t realized his voice sounded different. “You don’t need to be sorry about forgetting. We know it’s going to happen sometimes.” He pulled the corners of his lips up into a smile and set his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, kneading them gently. “You did really well at your tests this week, Bruce told me.”

“Patient confidentially doesn’t mean shit to that guy,” Bucky mumbled, but he was smirking.

“More like he couldn’t stand hearing me ask about it every five seconds,” Steve said, looking over Bucky’s suit in the mirror. He really looked handsome, especially with the tailored cut that accentuated his broad shoulders.

“Hey, have we eaten yet?” Bucky asked as he fiddled with the lapels of his jacket.

“No, we’re gonna eat at the gala. There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry now though.” The limo was coming in a few minutes, but there was plenty of time for a snack. Not to mention that he was sure Tony had stocked the limo full of booze and finger food.

Bucky shrugged and didn’t move to the kitchen.  “Eh, I’ll wait. Might as well get a five course dinner with an empty stomach, huh?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

Bucky turned to him and Steve stilled, watching as Bucky looked him over, his eyes a little clouded. It had been happening more and more lately, but Steve found that it passed after a few seconds.

“Everything okay?” he murmured, lifting a hand to gently thumb Bucky’s jawbone.

“Mmhm.” Then Bucky met his eyes again and smiled. “You look hot as hell.”

A blush rose to Steve’s cheeks. “I could say the same to you.”

“Yeah? Then how come you didn’t?” Bucky teased, his arms slipping around Steve’s waist.

“I figured you already knew,” Steve said pathetically.

“Oh bullshit,” Bucky laughed. “You’re a horrible liar and always will be. Jesus, Steve.” Their lips met in a fond kiss that warmed Steve to his toes.

“Next time I’ll let you know how good you look first.”

“There we go,” Bucky said with a grin. “Let’s get to that gala, yeah? I’m sure everyone’s waitin’ for our sorry asses to show up.”

They probably were. Everyone in the Avengers community was showing up to this event and Steve had to bear the knowledge of knowing that this gala had also become a goodbye party for Bucky. Of course, no one had formally said that, but Thor didn’t come down from Asgard for no reason. Even Natasha and Clint had passed over missions so that they could be there.

It was going to be a rough night for Steve, but he would be happy so long as Bucky was happy. Bucky liked hanging out with everyone and though he knew he was getting more and more sick, it rarely seemed to bother him. The only frustrating thing to him was when he realized he was repeating a question he’d already asked.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured, rubbing the small of his back. “What’s up, huh?”

What was he supposed to say? It was obvious what he was upset about, though Steve was trying his best to keep it down. He still hadn’t figured out how he was supposed to get through this and not make Bucky think something was off.

“It’s just been one of those days, I guess,” he dismissed, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s with a light smile. “Tonight’ll be great though, I just have to get there.”

Bucky didn’t believe him, Steve could tell. There was concern in the blue of his eyes, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he curled a finger beneath Steve’s chin and drew him in for a kiss. That did help.

Steve’s phone buzzed and he knew it was the limo company. “Our ride’s here.”

Bucky took his hand. “C’mon then, Stevie. Let’s get a move on.”

 

* * *

 

 

Though Steve and Bucky had been a part of the planning process for the gala, they hadn’t actually been around to see any of it come together. They would have been, had Bucky not been found to have memory loss, of course. Steve didn’t regret his decision to pull away from gala planning, because the surprise of seeing the final product on its own made it all worth it.

“We planned this?” Bucky asked, leaned over Steve’s lap to get a better look out the window of the limousine.

A fairy light canopy hung over a rich red carpet that led to the entrance of the building. People were cluttered around several fountains that had been placed along the path, all of the guests wearing smiles. Quite a few military personnel were present in formal uniforms, standing hand over wrist as if they were part of some secret military flash mob (another thing Steve had recently learned the meaning of).

“I think we said something about fountains and this is what we got,” Steve chuckled. He was a creative person—he could put things to paper—but event decoration wasn’t exactly in his realm of expertise. “Looks nice, huh?”

“We’re not taking credit for this,” Bucky laughed. “There’s no way in hell we had anything to do with this.”

Before Steve could reply, the limo door was opened by their chauffer. Cameras started going off as Steve climbed out, his hand tightly linked to Bucky’s just in case he was startled by all of it.

“Scared, Steve?” Bucky joked once he was out of the car. “You’re holdin’ my hand like you wanna break it off.”

Steve loosened his hold. “Sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on him for a heartbeat too long—he knew what Steve had been worried about. Again, he didn’t say anything about it.

After posing for a few pictures (per Bucky’s insistence), they went inside for the real party.

The ballroom was exceptional. Lacquered oak floors and more fairy lights all around, all of it accented by marble statues and exotic plants.  It reminded Steve of the flapper parties people had reminisced about when he was young, though he’d never been to one. Everything was fancy and formal: from men’s designer suits to the women’s extravagant gowns and jewelry. Steve had never seen anything like it, and he’d been dragged to a lot of fancy events.

“Look who finally decided to show up!”

Steve turned to see Sam, who was dressed in a damn good-looking suit and tie.

“Hey Sam,” he greeted, letting go of Bucky’s hand for a moment to pull his friend in for a hug. “It’s been awhile.”

“Yeah, it has. You know you _can_ make a trip to my neck of the woods every once in awhile—you know that right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Steve chuckled. They both knew why he hadn’t.

“Bucky, nice to see you, man.” Sam extended a hand.

Bucky looked at Steve for a split second before taking it. “Sam. Nice seeing you.”

Sam leaned back a little upon noticing someone else. “You’re here?” he called out with a grin. “Get your feathery ass outside, man. Yeah, you!”

“Fuck you,” Clint said with a laugh as he approached. He clapped a hand to Bucky’s metal shoulder and gave it a shake. “How’s it going, Bucky?”

Bucky’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well as it can, I guess. How’re you?”

Clint shrugged. “I could use some more booze.”

“Like hell.” Sam jabbed a thumb toward Clint. “This asshole drank me outta my house when he showed up last time. They teach you how to do that in secret agent school?”

“I did try the college thing once, you know,” Clint shot back.

It was refreshing for Steve to hear that kind of banter. Recently he’d been so involved with Bucky that he hadn’t really done much of anything with anyone else. Stayinf with Bucky was worth it though—Bucky had done the exact same thing for him when he used to get sick.

Bucky squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. “I think we need to move,” Bucky whispered in his ear.

Steve paled a little, but he nodded and linked he and Bucky’s hands again. “Hey guys, we’re gonna go see what everyone else is up to. We’ll check back later, okay? Sam, I want to hear what’s been happening with you.”

Sam watched him carefully, but nodded with a reassuring smile. “You got it, Cap.”

Steve gave Clint and Sam a parting nod before leading Bucky to a quieter part of the party, though plenty of eyes were on them. He decided to go to one of the bigger fountains that no one was standing at yet, and kept them facing the water so that no one could see what they were discussing.

“What’s up?” he asked, looping an arm around Bucky to rub at the small of his back.

“This mission is compromised, that’s what’s up,” Bucky hissed, glancing around. “Those two were supposed to stay outside and cover the perimeter—what are they even doing in here?”

Steve blinked, his mind racing to try and figure out what the hell Bucky thought was going on. “I think we’re safe now, Bucky,” he said gently. “We’re okay.”

“Until Hoffman gets here!” Bucky snapped.

Now he understood. Steve bit back a cry of frustration—sometimes this stupid disease made him want to scream. Bucky had no idea that he was wrong right then, he had no idea that they weren’t on mission. Couldn’t he tell? Why couldn’t he discern that? He was a smart guy. Surely he could pick up that this wasn’t a mission!

Bucky thought they were back on the Hoffman mission at the party there. Sam had to have triggered it, or maybe Clint and Sam together.

“We aren’t on mission, Buck,” Steve said quietly, rubbing Bucky’s shoulders now. “This is the gala we’ve been planning, remember?”

Bucky flinched in surprise, as if the room had suddenly changed in front of him. “We picked the Hoffman mansion to have our gala?”

“This isn’t the Hoffman mansion. We picked this place. With the big ballroom, remember?”

Bucky didn’t seem to. He looked around and leaned into Steve a little more. “Yeah.”

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” Steve soothed. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Bucky frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know where we are.”

“That’s all right.” Steve smoothed his hand up to play with the little ponytail at the base of Bucky’s neck. “We’re at the Wounded Warrior Gala. We planned it. When everyone found out about us, we decided to make something good out of it.”

Bucky leaned his head onto Steve’s shoulder. “I’m s’posed to remember, aren’t I?”

“You don’t have to. As long as you know you’re safe,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s hair. “And as long as we have fun tonight. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky didn’t sound very convinced.

“Want to get a drink?” Steve asked. “Everything’s right off the top shelf for us.”

Bucky finally cracked a smile. “I think we should eat some dinner first before I start getting shitfaced.”

“Shitfaced? See, you’ve definitely been hanging out with Clint,” Steve laughed.

Bucky chuckled, but it was the nervous kind that meant he still didn’t remember. Steve took his hand and led him toward the expansive buffet tables packed full of delicious desserts, sides, and drinks. The ballroom started to fill with the buzz of conversation, but Steve’s entire focus was on the man with a metal arm beside him selecting a piece of strawberry cheesecake.

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on, it ain’t that hard,” Bucky laughed, hands on Steve’s shoulders to steady him. “You’re actin’ like we’re about to be in some ballroom competition.”

“To be fair, we’re probably going to be on TV,” Steve muttered, looking down at his shoes to check if his feet were in the right place. He didn’t really even know where the right place was—he’d seen dancing plenty of times and it looked easy enough, but actually doing it was a different story.

“I’ve got the hard part, y’know,” Bucky said. “All you gotta do is lead. I gotta go backwards.”

“If you want to make it more realistic, I’m sure Pepper wouldn’t mind loaning you her heels,” Steve muttered.

Other couples began filling in the ballroom floor as the music started, leaving ample space around the two of them as Steve tried to get up the nerve to start dancing. Of all the stupid things he’d done in his life, he was nervous about dancing.

“C’mon,” Bucky urged, his grin threatening to split his face. He grabbed Steve’s hands and pasted them to his waist.

With a quick breath to collect himself, Steve started to move. Forward, right, forward, left, back, right. The music was a bit faster than he wanted it to be, but he managed to keep himself pretty much in time.

“You’re doin’ fine,” Bucky assured him, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “Might be a little more romantic if ya weren’t lookin’ at your shoes though.”

“Shuddup,” Steve mumbled. After a few more steps he forced himself to meet Bucky’s eyes…and stepped on his foot. 

“Ah-ah. Don’t look back down.” Bucky tipped his chin back up. “It just takes a few minutes to get used to it. Just keep it up.”

Steve pursed his lips, but kept moving. He felt like his hands weren’t in the right place, like he should be moving them or something. Anything but the stiff hold he had right now.

“There ya go,” Bucky murmured after a moment. “See? You’re dancing.”

“I’ve got a perfect partner, I guess,” Steve replied with a chuckle.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but his smile grew wider. “That bullshit mouth a yours doesn’t work on me, punk.”

“Bullshit mouth, huh?” Steve leaned forward to meet Bucky’s lips for a kiss.

“Mm,” Bucky purred. “Yup. Bullshit mouth.”

“You really are a jerk.”

Bucky stomped on his foot with a huff, pretending to be scandalized.

“I don’t see way all those girls wanted to dance with you all the time,” Steve teased. “Steppin’ on their feet and all.”

“You want me to treat you like a dame, then?” Bucky cocked a brow.

“I’m just sayin’, I don’t see what all the fuss was about.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly like they always did when he got determined. “Let me lead.”

Steve paused in his step, and Bucky took over. It was rough at first to try and follow, but Bucky started slowing them down, so it wasn’t so hard to adjust.  Bucky’s hands came to his hips and Steve’s moved to Bucky’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Steve said with a bemused look. “I’m still not feeling any—“ He stopped when Bucky’s forehead pressed to his, their breath mixing together but their lips not yet touching. Heat rushed to Steve’s cheeks against his will.

“You were sayin’, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice was lower, husky. And his lips were still tantalizingly close. Steve moved to kiss him, but Bucky evaded, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk. “Your eyes are so blue, you know that?”

Steve let out a snort. “Thanks.”

Bucky gave a little hum. “But your lips are somethin’ else, I’ll tell ya.”

“So this is what you do, huh? Shower girls with compliments?”

Bucky shook his head, gently pulling Steve closer to him as the music changed to a slower dance. “Just you.”

Steve laughed, but he couldn’t help but be flattered. “Yeah? And I bet you say that to every girl you’ve danced with.”

“Oh please. I don’t lie to ladies. I’m not kiddin’, you’ve got the best lips I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissin’. And you ain’t too bad at dancing, either.”

“Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” Steve cracked.

Bucky laughed, but quieted soon after. They swayed to the music, barely moving around the floor anymore. Steve had never thought dancing was really all that special, but his opinion on that was quickly changing. No wonder girls loved dancing with Bucky so much. He turned it into an experience.

“I wish I could everything with you,” Steve murmured as another love song began.

“What can’t you do with me?” Bucky asked, his lips feathering at Steve’s cheek.

“Things normal people do. Travel, see the world without guns strapped to our backs. I want a life with you, Buck.”

Bucky’s fingers curled a little tighter into the fabric of his suit. “We’ll have that. Wherever you wanna go, we’ll go. Whatever you wanna do, we’ll do.”

Steve pulled back a little, cocking his head just slightly. “I don’t want you to get scared if we go somewhere. I don’t want you to think something bad’s happening.”

Bucky pressed their lips together. “You don’t gotta worry about that, Steve. As long as I got you, I’ll be just fine. No matter what happens.”  

Steve didn’t want to think about what would happen. They would take each day as it came, and he would always have Bucky there with him.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” Bucky said. “This whole party…all of our friends here. Well, all our new friends.” He smiled warmly. “Less than a year ago we were livin’ by a lake and I was tryin’ my best not to kill ya in your sleep.”

Steve looked around the ballroom and had to agree. All of the Avengers were here, from Tony angrily stuffing more money in the tip jar for the bartender as Thor downed booze by the bottle, Sam dancing with Natasha (and looking equally stunned and nervous), to Clint retelling an action story to a politely interested Bruce.

“It’s pretty damn great,” Steve agreed.

“Not to mention I’m the lucky fella who gets your first dance,” Bucky added with a smirk.

Steve gave him a kiss before chuckling. “Yeah. Gotta be lucky with somethin’, right?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Whaddaya mean? I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Surely Bucky didn’t think that. Yet the look on his face said he did. Steve didn’t understand how he could consider himself lucky when he was going to lose everything. Every memory was at risk of disappearing forever, every moment they’d ever shared.

Bucky kissed his brow and swept him into a new dance as the song changed to a more upbeat tune. Steve tried to keep up, but ended up laughing so hard at his horrible footing that they both had to stop.

So maybe Steve wasn’t much for dancing, but he had no doubt that he’d finally found the right partner.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I publish this final chapter, I would like to take the time to thank all of you who have read this story. Some of you have been here since the beginning, others of you maybe just found it and have been binge reading all the way through to here. In any case, I can’t thank you enough. Your words of support and kind comments have been such a motivator for me to finish this work. I couldn’t have done it without all of you!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the final installment of this fic, which has become my longest that I’ve written thus far. I’m so proud to have finished it, and thank you once again to all of you who have continually given me so much support. I will extend my tears of gratefulness to you in the form of heartbreak. :)

Willow trees had a certain sound to them that soothed the soul. The rustling of oak trees was too brash, the sigh of maples too lazy; willow trees were quiet, soft. They caressed the ear and beckoned young hearts to find comfort in their shade as they watched over the marshes and fields from which they were born. The very breeze seemed to slow in the presence of willows, paying respect to their wise trunks and sweeping vines.

Bucky liked the willow trees.

Steve’s eyes flicked open just after dawn without need of an alarm. His internal timekeeping was unparalleled, as it had always been since the serum. Bucky slept soundly beside him, curled beneath the covers though the air outside was balmy. Nights could get cold here though, and the splendor of land around their house didn’t hide them from the wind very well.

Steve gently kissed the nape of Bucky’s neck, no longer having to push long hair aside to do it. Bucky hadn’t wanted long hair and he’d cut it off about two years before, bringing back the look Steve had always known him by. Steve had more or less followed suite, returning to his bangs that he had to finger comb out of the way every so often. It helped Bucky remember.

Sunlight filtered into the room, glowing off of the lacquered oak floors that made up the expanse of the master bedroom. Steve slipped quietly from bed and turned, smoothing out the covers he had rumpled. Living out in the country made for strict routines to pass the time. Steve enjoyed it. The worst he ever had to stress about now was getting on his bike and heading to the store to get more milk. They had an easy life now—one that had been well earned.

He padded down the hallway into the guest bedroom where he kept his clothes, slipping into a pair of slacks and a blue button-up. He combed his hair, pausing once to listen when he thought he heard Bucky getting out of bed. When no more noises came from the bedroom, he spritzed on a little bit of cologne and rubbed it on his neck, checking himself once more in the mirror before heading downstairs.

The house had been a gift, courtesy of the Avengers. SHIELD provided security and protection on the off chance that Steve wasn’t able to, but he and Bucky pretty much had the entire fifty acres to themselves. It was a beautiful stretch of land, with grassy marshes, walking paths, fields, and wetlands. There was plenty to explore, and the air was always sweet with tupelo. They had been living here for five years and Steve found himself busy every day.

He began washing the dishes left in the sink from their spaghetti dinner the night before, scrubbing off the tomato sauce while his eggs and bacon cooked on the stove. The view from the window above the sink was that of a perfect summer day: the willow trees swaying in the gentle breeze and the tall yellow grasses lazily mirroring them.

Once the dishes were clean, Steve took his eggs and bacon from the stove and scraped them from the pan onto his plate. He didn’t have too much time, but luckily a bowl of Froot Loops wasn’t too difficult to make.

Their fridge didn’t have many pictures on it, just a few sketches of Bucky that Steve had stuck up there and a photograph of the Howling Commandoes in their historic shot, all heroically posing for the camera.

Steve made up the bowl of Froot Loops and sat it at the end of the table where Bucky liked to sit before grabbing the newspaper from the porch that a poor SHIELD intern dropped off every morning. The news was always the same now—terrorism and shootings and the Avengers dealing with some evil force. Steve hadn’t been part of the action for five years. He was often tempted to go back, but he’d made a promise to be with Bucky ‘til the end of the line, and he intended to keep that promise.

“Mornin’.”

Steve looked up from the paper, smiling at the sight of a very drowsy Bucky. His hair was a ruffled mess, his shirt was lopsided at the bottom, half rucked up on one hip. Steve found it adorable. “Good morning.”

Bucky gestured to the Froot Loops. “This mine?”

“Sure is.” Steve’s gaze lingered for a moment, watching Bucky for a sign of what today would be like. He could usually tell pretty quickly.

“Mm. Thanks, pal.” Bucky rubbed his eyes and plopped down in his seat with a yawn.

Steve looked back down at the paper.

“Say,” Bucky said with a mouth full of milk and Froot Loops. “This stuff’s great!”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty good, huh? They’re called Froot Loops.”

Bucky hummed in approval. “Well, I’m gonna have this every day. You ever had these before?”

Steve nodded. “Yup. Too sugary for me, though.”

Bucky let out a snort and shoveled more cereal into his mouth.

“Slow down, Buck,” Steve warned, his brow lifting. “There’s plenty of food around.”

Bucky dropped his spoon, slapping a hand over his mouth as he pushed up out of his chair. “Fuck!” His eyes were wide, looking at Steve like he’d just sprouted wings. “Steve?!? Holy shit!” He paused, peering at him a little suspiciously. “That is you, right Stevie?”

“It’s me. Finish your breakfast, Bucky.”

Bucky did as asked, too stunned to refuse. “What the hell happened? You’re…”

“Taller?” Steve tried, his mouth twitching up in a smile.

“Yeah. Fuck!”

“Eat your Froot Loops, Buck. I’ll tell you all about it once you’re done eating.” He nodded toward the bowl of cereal and waited until Bucky took another spoonful in his mouth. Today was going to be a good day.

Bucky ate mostly in quiet, glancing up every so often to look him over. Steve resumed the crossword he’d started, his eggs and bacon long since finished.

“You know what, Steve?” Bucky said, his gaze on the fields outside the window. “Whaddya say we go explorin’, huh? Like the old days. You ‘n me.”

Steve grinned, fondness dimming his eyes. “I think that’d be a lot of fun.”

Bucky flashed him a goofy smile, pleased with himself. “Let’s go by the river.  See if there’s anything interesting down there.”

He remembered the river, that was good. Steve nodded. “Sure thing, Buck. I love the river.” _I love you._

 

When breakfast was finished and Bucky was changed into proper clothes, they headed out the door and onto the porch. Steve kept his hands in his pockets, stopping before descending the steps just to look out at the trees and fields beyond. The south really was a pretty place. Calm and tranquil, just like Bucky had described it so long ago.

“This way, Stevie,” Bucky announced, taking the lead down one of the dirt paths that led toward the river. “We’re gonna go someplace we’ve never gone.”

Steve occasionally wondered if Bucky knew they hadn’t grown up here. He was comfortable in their big old house; only on his bad days did he become wild with fear and confusion. Those days were seldom though, and Steve usually never left the bedroom when Bucky was like that. He spent the whole day holding him, keeping him safe from himself while he fought his invisible demons. The rest of the time, Bucky wandered around their land like he’d been born there, unafraid and adventurous like he’d been when they were boys.

“How’d you sleep last night, Buck?” Steve asked, keeping only one or two paces behind him as they navigated the foot trails.

Bucky gave a shrug. “Fine.”

“Any dreams? I like hearing your dreams.” He yearned for them. He sat up at night sometimes just hoping that Bucky’s eyes would flick open and he would _know_ again. That he’d give him one of those desperate kisses that Steve ached for and whisper to him, soothe him until sleep stole him away again.

“You’re one a those artsy types, Steve. You have the dreams, not me,” Bucky said distractedly, his eyes on the glittering river bank not far ahead.

“Aw, come on. You took a drawing class with me. You’re better than you think you are, Buck. And nobody’s ever said I got better handwriting than you. You’re just as artsy as me.” Steve caught up to him, nudging him with his shoulder. “No dreams?”

Bucky stopped walking for a moment to look at him with that lopsided smile of his that Steve loved so much. Bucky shook his head slowly. “The dreams I got ain’t good, Steve.”

“Tell me.”

Bucky gave a long exhale through his nose, looking out at the river again and then back at his feet. “I shoulda known not to enlist. I shoulda known that you wouldn’ make it, but I never wanted to tell ya. I never wanted to tell you ya couldn’t do something.”

Steve reached out, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know why they haven’t shipped me out yet. I ain’t complainin’, but it’s gonna happen someday, Steve. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Steve’s smile broke for only a heartbeat. “You don’t gotta worry about that, Buck. I’m right here with you. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Bucky laughed. “I say that one time and you make it into a catch phrase.” He reached up, ruffling Steve’s hair as if he didn’t notice that Steve was his same height now. Tall enough to see the fear Bucky was hiding behind his smile. “Come on. We’ve got explorin’ to do.”

A few minutes later and Steve began to notice that Bucky didn’t know who he was. There was some flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he talked in a polite tone that he used with acquaintances and made small talk about the weather. Steve slowed his pace to keep a little distance between them.

They rounded a curve and Bucky stopped dead. Steve followed Bucky’s gaze to a knobby tree.

“Would ya look at that,” Bucky said with a chuckle.

“What?”

“That tree. Looks just like the one by my ma’s place.” Bucky smiled and walked off the path, scaling the tree in a matter of seconds.

Steve watched from below, biting back a warning to be careful. It was amazing to him that Bucky never found it suspicious that he had such physical prowess. Then again, he never thought his metal arm was strange either. Bruce said that HYDRA might have designed for that to happen. The files that they’d managed to scrape up concerning a vague “neural procedure” had said almost nothing about what would be lost and what could come back. But it did indicate that the failsafe’s design was to cause it to go unnoticed until it could no longer be reversed. Bucky having a panic attack about a metal limb didn’t exactly say subtle.

“Hey, there’s somethin’ up here!” Bucky called out.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I can’t tell. It’s old paper or somethin’. Should I bring it down?”

“Yeah, might be something to take a look at.” A piece of paper lodged in a tree wasn’t exactly commonplace this far away from civilization.

Bucky slipped out of the tree, his brow furrowed as he tried to make out what was in the photograph. “Can’t even see what it is. You want it?” He offered the photograph, creased so much it was almost impossible to see what it was and the edges so feathered and worn that the thing could very well have just crumbled in Bucky’s hand. But Steve took it and put it in his pocket anyway.

“I think I’m done exploring,” Bucky announced. He extended a hand. “Back to the house?”

Steve blinked stupidly for a moment then hesitantly took Bucky’s hand.

Bucky laced their fingers together and squeezed, smiling fondly at him. “Come on. You don’t gotta look all scared. I know the way back.”

“Yeah,” Steve choked out, reaching up with his free hand to wipe away the damn moisture collecting there. He squeezed Bucky’s hand hard, willing the metal to imprint its lines onto his palm. They hadn’t held hands since Christmas last year—the best present Steve had ever received in his life.

Bucky tugged him back along the path, pointing out the occasional wildflower or bird when he saw one. He had said once that explaining the world to Steve made it seem more like he was living in it. All the while, Steve thumbed the side of Bucky’s palm, absorbed in watching the way his lips curled into a smile, the way he cocked his head just a little when he pretended to know the name of a flower.

“What’s got ya so scared?” Bucky asked suddenly, brow furrowing in concern.

“Nothing’s got me scared, Bucky,” Steve replied with a smile.

A strange look passed over Bucky’s features, but he kept walking. Another five minutes passed and the house came into view.

Bucky turned to face him, his eyes reflecting all of the warmth and life of the summer around them, glazed over his blue irises that Steve had come to cherish in a whole new way these past years.  Bucky smiled at him, but his lips curled in that extra little bit that Steve had also come to recognize.

“I’m real sorry,” Bucky murmured. “But can ya let go of my hand? It’s nice n’ all, but I don’t know you.”

Steve smiled politely and pulled his hand away, resisting the urge to give it a final squeeze. “Right. Sorry,” he said quietly. “Won’t happen again.”

Bucky’s smile remained and he turned back to look at the willow trees, Steve right at his side. Bucky forgot his name and his face, but he had never once asked Steve to leave him alone. They stuck together, and that was the way it always would be.

 

* * *

 

 

“I like this song,” Bucky murmured, reaching across the bed to turn up the dial on his radio. “You ever heard it before?”

Steve nodded once, ruffling Bucky’s hair. “You’ve gotta go to bed, Buck. Time to get some rest.”

 

_“Beatrice Fairfax, don’t you dare,_

_Ever tell me he will care,_

_I’m certain, it’s the final curtain…”_

 

Bucky hummed along with the song, flipping through a novel that Steve didn’t know the name of. Natasha had dropped it off one day, and Bucky never put it down—the same way he never seemed to realize it was written in Russian.

“I think that’s enough Doris Day for tonight, yeah? Time to get some shuteye,” said Steve. Bucky always woke up at the exact same time every morning, and not getting enough sleep was practically asking for a bad day.

“You know her name, huh? This a friend of yours, Stevie?” Busked asked.

Steve laughed. “Nope. She’s pretty good though, huh?”

Bucky closed his book and set it on the bedside table with a yawn. “All right, all right, I’ll go to bed. Will that getcha to stop pesterin’ me?”

Steve smiled fondly. “I guess.”

Bucky put his hands behind his head as he laid back in bed. “Y’know, I don’t mind our lives.” He turned his head a little to look at Steve. “Workin’ the docks is hard, but we get by, y’know? I feel like shit at the end of the day, but then we get the whole rest of the night to ourselves.”

Tears welled in Steve’s eyes, but he smiled and nodded like nothing was wrong. “Yeah. We do just fine.”

Bucky closed his eyes with a big breath.  “You won’t miss me when I ship out, will ya?”

“Nah. I’ll be right there with ya. Don’t need to miss someone who’s right next to me.” His voice cracked a little, his chest twisting with the horrible irony of his words.

Bucky snorted. “You just keep training, Steve. You’ll be with me in no time. Just do what I showed ya and you’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he said, desperate to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m gonna step out for a bit. You get some sleep.”

Bucky was already nodding off, but he gave a thumbs up.

Steve collected himself and slipped out the door into the hallway, bringing a hand to his mouth to physically keep himself from sobbing. Scalding tears still rolled down his cheeks, but that was the extent of it. He still had Bucky here. He still had a Bucky who remembered him most of the time.

He headed down the stairs and into the kitchen to prepare for the coming day. It wasn’t hard to put things back in order after five years: clean the table off, put the playing cards back in the cupboard where Bucky always looked for them, resetting the things on the counter.

When he finished, he poured himself a glass of white wine. Bucky had picked it out on their first and last international trip together—a honeymoon of sorts, though they never did get married. Through to the end, Bucky was convinced he could beat the disease and didn’t want to get married until he had his head together. It was probably better that they never did—the stress of a wedding, no matter how small, might have sped the progression of the illness.

It was only after he had the whole glass of wine in his system (not that it made a difference) that Steve pulled the photograph from his pocket. He thumbed over a fuzzy, creased-over blur. It was the photograph of Bucky he’d managed to get from the Smithsonian years before the Winter Soldier had been discovered. It wasn’t anything special, just Bucky holding up a pint of beer with a crowd of other men. Of course, the picture was unrecognizable now, but Steve had looked at it almost every day for the past five years. He’d long since memorized the lines of Bucky’s face, the wide giddy smile of a boy who had yet to experience the horrors of war.

It took him several minutes before he had the courage to turn over the photograph. Bucky’s handwriting was always so jarring; he seemed like the type to write in chicken scratch. Instead the letters were curved and looped with masterful precision, a true calligrapher’s scribe.

Though all the words were faded, Steve knew them by heart.

 

_To the guy I’m in love with (Steve—I didn’t forget your damn name),_

_Put this thing in that knotty tree by the river. I’ll find it every time—that tree looks like the one that used to be by my ma’s. Remember?_

_Every time I find it, and even if one day I don’t, I want you to know that I love you. I’m losing myself, I can feel it. But I’ll keep fightin’. A part of me is always gonna be fightin’ for you. I’m so damn sorry. I’m so sorry, Steve. Findin’ this stupid piece of paper is the only way I can think of to let you know I’m still here. I still love you, I just might not know it sometimes._

_But some day it’ll be the end of the line for me. Don’t act like you don’t know that. We both know it’s gonna happen. I want you to know it’s okay to let me go sometime. Got it? I’m countin’ on you to do that for me so I can quit worryin’ about it while I still remember.  You’re allowed to let me go. I won’t mind. Your happiness is everything to me, and I can’t imagine you bein’ happy when the fella you love doesn’t know you anymore. I don't think I could be._

_All of this is worth it for what we had. I just wish we could have found it earlier. Maybe things would’ve been different._

_Regardless, I love you, Stevie. I love you more than Froot Loops and baseball and Brooklyn and cream soda and everything else I’m supposed to love. You take the cake, always. Always._

_Yours ‘til the end,_

_Bucky_

_P.S. – If you put fuckin’ almond milk in my cereal, I swear to God I’ll kill you._

 

Steve returned the letter to the tree as he did every night, the exertion of a run helping to keep the tears from overtaking him.  Climbing the tree was never difficult, but leaving that letter there was like saying goodbye all over again.

 

When he got back home, Bucky was sound asleep in bed, curled into a tight ball.

Steve loved Bucky so much it hurt. When he first started reading the letter Bucky left for him, he’d always told himself that he’d do as Bucky asked and let go. Not forever, but just to return to the Avengers or to do something else for a little while. But now he knew he never would. Unless the world was in absolute peril, he would not leave Bucky’s side. Part of him foolishly believed that Bucky would come back some day. Even if he didn’t, Steve was going to spend every moment with him that he could.

He slipped into Bucky’s bed over the covers, never daring to risk Bucky waking up in the middle of the night and finding a strange man in his bed.

Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s flesh arm, the only place he felt comfortable doing so that wouldn’t wake him.

“Goodnight, Buck,” he whispered.

He settled into bed and rested his forehead between Bucky’s shoulder blades, mentally preparing himself for what tomorrow might hold. Bucky let out a quiet sigh in his sleep and Steve nuzzled closer.

“I miss you,” he whispered shakily. “And I love you so much.”

 

There was no response. His words were lost to the silence as Bucky’s mind had been lost to disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from _But Not For Me_ by Doris Day
> 
>  
> 
> If you’d like to see all of the hints and signs of Bucky's disease that I laid out along the way, I’ve listed the majority of them here. I didn’t really start hammering in signs until Chapter 24, but I don’t really remember (no pun intended) if I slipped more in beforehand. If I did, I didn’t write them in my list. Anyway, here’s the notes!
> 
> \- Chapter 6: The Winter Soldier forewarns that Steve should stop wishing he could have Bucky back, saying Bucky will “break apart in his hands.”  
> \- Chapter 7: _“You think this will end neatly. You think this will end as perfectly as everything else in your life. I am here to tell you—"_ – The Winter Soldier before he gets cut off by Steve.  
>  \- Chapter 24: _Misplacing things_ – Bucky forgets where his jacket is  
>  \- Chapter 25: Bucky forgets to hold on in the subway (not really designed as a sign, but could be seen as one)  
> \- Chapter 25: _Difficulty with familiar tasks_ – Bucky forgets how to use his tablet and the SHIELD software (keep in mind he’s superbly trained at handling computers, hacking, etc)  
>  \- Chapter 26: _Irritability_ – Not exactly written as a sign, but Bucky does get more than a little angry when he discovers Steve talking to Collin  
>  \- Chapter 28: Bucky asks Steve if he thinks they’ll ever get so old that they forget everything. I wrote this as a bit of foreshadowing, although it was pretty roundabout. In my head, a part of Bucky realizes this disease is starting to take effect. The Winter Soldier knew about the failsafe, so a part of Bucky does know what’s happening…he’s just forgotten it already.  
> \- Chapter 29: _New problems with speech and writing_ – Steve is asked about his and Bucky’s first date and turns it over to Bucky. Bucky is distracted and has to be physically snapped out of his despondency.  
>  \- Chapter 29: _Withdrawal from work/social life_ – Clint asks Bucky to go on a special ops mission in Chicago, but Bucky refuses,  
>  \- Chapter 30: _Confusion with time or place_ \- at the airport when Bucky freaks out about the cost of Coke, he’s forgotten what year it is. Cue a horribly ironic joke from Steve right afterword.  
> \- Chapter 30: Kay folks, Bucky LOVES Froot Loops. Yet at the airport, even though the option is there for him to have some, he doesn’t get them. Steve notices this one and even comments about it, but doesn’t think anything of it.  
> \- Chapter 30: Bucky has forgotten to shave for the past few days.  
> \- Chapter 33: The obvious one, Bucky forgets how to speak English and doesn’t recognize that he’s speaking Russian at the press conference. 
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Though no one ever really commented about it, Bucky’s disease is also the reason he never had a problem with nightmares beyond the lake house. Part of that was because of Steve, but as time progressed, Bucky forgot vast amounts of his horrible memories. The disease’s first objective was to remove sensitive information about the Winter Soldier, so the Winter Soldier’s memories were wiped early on. Bucky knows about who he was as the Winter Soldier and what he did, in the sense that he knew he killed people and did horrible things. However, by the time he goes to New York, he’s already forgotten most of that, though he doesn't realize it because he's never asked to recall it. This is why he never goes into much detail about what he did as the Winter Soldier, and why he doesn’t seem as mentally distraught or PTSD-affected as you might think he would be.__  
>   
> 
> _  
> _If you have any more questions for me, please let me know! I'd be happy to discuss with you. :D__  
>   
> 
> _  
> _Thanks again for reading!__  
> 


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